


Something Icky This Way Comes

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Human, Case Fic, Castiel Is In Love With Dean, Cats, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Dean is in love with Castiel, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, Ectoplasm, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Halloween, Illustrated, Just A Fun Fluffy Spoopy Good Time, Lonely Castiel, Lonely Dean, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Paranormal Investigators, Past Castiel/Dean Winchester, Rabbits, Romance, Scientist Castiel, Smol Amount of Angst to Make The Fluff Better, Team Free Will, Virgin Castiel, not really hate sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 04:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16422179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Charlie Bradbury is a professional investigator of supernatural happenings, and Dean Winchester is her work partner and best friend, currently bunking in their office. Requiring insight for a particularly bizarre case on the night before Halloween, they call their go-to FBI lab guy, Castiel – who Dean hates. Totally and completely despises. And yet somehow they’ve always gotten along perfectly well in the heat of the moment. Anyway, there’s an ectoplasm-producing rabbit high on catnip floating around the office, and the creature’s predicament really needs to be addressed, or Charlie’s Halloween party will have to be cancelled. And nobody wants that. Least of all, Cas.





	1. Possessed Chicago Rabbit Destroys Living Room!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by my highly luminescent pals, [Mittens](mittensmorgul.tumblr.com) and [Amara](https://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com)!! 
> 
> » WARNINGS  
> Past animal death, grave-digging.

Eating noodles alone was fine.

Eating them out of the box was acceptable.

Eating noodles from the box, alone, at a table in the middle of a busy Chinese restaurant was okay, because then it looked like Dean was on his way out the door, then decided to sit down. It didn’t look like he got stood up for a date. It didn’t look like he was alone by accident.

He was alone on purpose. And he wanted everyone to know that.

On the tablecloth beside the spare chopsticks, his cellphone went _ding!_ He crossed his left hand across his chest and checked the new message.

[ **Charlie** ]  
[ ** _We’ve got a case!!!_** ]

Dean raised his eyebrows and smiled, still chewing a prawn dumpling. Whenever Charlie said those words, a new adventure began.

His phone _ding!_ ed again.

[ **Charlie** ]  
[ ** _*roll opening credits*_** ]

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

On his way out of the restaurant, Dean waved to the owner, Mrs. Tran. Her son looked up from his schoolwork at the chef’s counter, and Dean called, “See ya, Kev! The game’s afoot.”

Kevin snorted, scowled, and got back to his AP something-or-other.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Charlie yanked the cord on the window to narrow the blinds, leaving pale slices of sunlight across the office. “Caught us a fresh fish, Winchester. Come see. This one’s real wriggly.”

Dean sucked a prawn off his chopsticks, ambling across the room. “Am I gonna have to eat lunch again after seein’ this?” he asked warily.

“Nothing gory,” Charlie assured him. She rotated her laptop screen so Dean could look. “YouTube usually recs me local supernatural weirdness for the business side of things, and cute animals for pleasure, so surprise-surprise: today it gave me a two-for-one.”

Dean craned over the desk, letting Charlie pry the noodle box from him and start to eat. The video on screen began as a brown blurry mess with crushed audio – clearly whoever filmed wasn’t a professional. Then Dean heard muffled curses in Spanish, and the camera focused on a dreary living room.

“ _Where is he?_ ” asked a little girl.

“ _There!_ ” shouted a boy – and the camera swung around to—

“Oh shit,” Dean breathed, seeing a fire-eyed rabbit leap up the wall, bounding across a Justin Timberlake poster and tearing it with its claws, leaving it to crumple down, white-backed. The video became a swirl of the exhilarated childrens’ screams, then a woman praying loudly in Spanish, her shawled figure caught in frame a number of times as the rabbit shot around and around the room, up across the front door, bouncing off the coffee table, hitting the ceiling with all four feet. Shrieks and shouts came from all angles—

The rabbit’s back legs snapped off the ceiling and its shadow shot towards the camera. The kid holding the camera yelped.

Muffles, blurs, the cricky-cracky noise of something scrambling at the microphone.

And then a flash of bright green light – grass – expelled breaths, pouding feet. “ _Olivia! Olivi— Come outside! Quickly—_ ”

The little girl’s face was ruddy with terror, running outside with her mother stumbling after her. They turned to slam the front door together, but the scrambling continued on the other side. The lens swung to the living room window, struck by a force, the lace curtain disturbed.

“ _Ay Dios, ¿qué está pasando?_ ” the mother uttered under her breath. She turned her eyes to her children, then realised her son was filming. “ _Turn that off, Emilio. Turn it of—_ ”

The video ended.

Dean breathed out, standing straight.

“This footage is in the process of going viral,” Charlie said. “Everyone in the comments assumes it’s a movie promo prank. _Cloverfield_ , _Blair Witch Project_ — But come on, there’s twenty other videos uploaded by Emilio567, it’s just a little Mexican kid with a cellphone. The vids date back a couple years, you see Emilio and Olivia grow _up_. Where does a family like that get a budget for a professional CGI job? This is real.”

“That poor rabbit,” Dean murmured. “So what’s the plan?”

“I’mma narrow down the exact location. ‘Chicago’ is in the title and we get a look at the building’s architecture, the street outside, _and_ the house number of their neighbour. Gimme ten minutes. We’ll go knock on their door and see what’s up. If we’re lucky, we’ll be there and back again, and still have time to plan for the Halloween party.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

The living room wasn’t as dim and grey in real life as it had looked in the video. The Justin Timberlake poster had been replaced by a store-bought painting of a zebra surrounded by paint splatter, and a garland of orange flowers hung over its top. A bowl of potpourri sat in the middle of the scratched-up coffee table. Charlie supposed the redecoration had occured in order to cover up the damage, and they’d done a good job. The place looked nicer than before.

Charlie blew on her herbal tea, putting on a smile to assure the other woman that she meant well. Dean didn’t look so comfortable; he wasn’t a fan of herbal anything. And that teacup was far too delicate in his Hagrid hands.

“Ms. Hernández,” Charlie said, as the first sip of tea warmed her stomach. “Tell us about the video.”

The woman’s eyes were already set deep in their sockets, but the soft wrinkles of well-nourished skin seemed to harden. She was haunted by the reminder.

“Emilio didn’t tell me he was recording,” Ms. Hernández said. “He didn’t tell me until today that he – publicado – publish?” She shook her head. “It goes like the virus.”

Charlie nodded. “It’s very popular, uh-huh.” Her eyes darted to the doorway, seeing the two children peering in. Charlie smiled, but they both fled with a gasp. When Charlie caught Dean’s eyes, he nodded, looking determined.

“Ma’am, do you mind if I talk to your kids?” Dean asked, placing his undrunk tea on the coffee table. “Official FBI questions, that’s all. And I’d like to see this rabbit of yours.”

Ms. Hernández looked worried, but nodded. “I cannot look. I cannot.” She shook her head. “The devil is in that rabbit.”

Dean eased past, and went into the hallway, searching for the children.

Charlie turned back to the mother. “Ms. Hernández... Are you okay? I know this must be scary... Is anyone here looking after you? Helping you?”

The woman looked back with sad eyes. “Old Mr. Tickles, he used to care for me, always. Everything is—” she lowered her eyes, “harder without him. He never said goodbye before he left on his journey. He wasn’t here for this. I don’t know what he would’ve thought.”

“Mr. Tickles,” Charlie repeated.

“Yes.”

Strange name. But Charlie once met a woman named Elongated Blimp, so she wasn’t gonna judge. She smiled, and offered her business card. “If you ever need some assistance, someone to talk to about how to _recover_ from this incident? Me and Dean, we’ve got your back. But for now, if you don’t mind: tell me _all_ about this rabbit.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

“Hey. Hey, kid, hold up.”

Emilio paused at the foot of the darkened staircase, one hand on the bannister, one foot on the second stair. Dean beckoned with a sweep of his arm. Emilio hesitated, glancing up the stairs to his sister, but went to Dean.

“Dean Winchester, FBI,” Dean said, holding out his hand. “How’s it going, man?”

Emilio shook Dean’s hand, gulping. “Are we in trouble? Are we gonna be deported?”

“What? Naww,” Dean said, crouching. “Come on, we’re just here about the rabbit. How long ago did you film the video?”

“Last week.” Emilio clutched a skinny arm with his other hand, his eye contact skittery and nervous. “After school.”

“How’s the rabbit now?”

“Troyano,” came a soft voice. The little girl descended one step at a time, both her hands clutching a dress the exact colour of glacé cherries. “The rabbit’s called Troyano.”

“He doesn’t eat any more,” Emilio said. “Or drink. But he does poop.”

“That’s weird,” Dean said.

“Yeah.”

“Can I see him? Troyano?”

The girl held her brother’s t-shirt, sucking her lower lip. The pair made eye contact, then led Dean down the hallway together, straight into another room. Dean followed, looking for a light switch – but didn’t turn it on, as he soon realised why the kids hadn’t, either.

The rabbit was locked inside a cat carrier, emitting an eerie lilac glow. Its little nose wriggled, and it greeted Olivia sweetly, then lost interest, and went back to doing nothing.

“When did this start?” Dean asked. “The glowing, the not-eating, jumping up the walls.”

“Umm.” The kids looked at each other. Olivia answered, “A long time ago,” while Emilio said, “A few months. He was fine when we got him, but then he turned into this.”

Dean smiled, bending on one knee to peer at the rabbit. Besides the glow, it just looked like a regular, chubby pet rabbit.

“Here,” Dean said, pulling a blocky contraption out of his suit jacket, extending its antenna. “You kids ever seen this? This is an EMF meter. Electromagnetic Frequency. I turn it on, and – usually when there’s some kind of ghost activity, it’ll do that. Hear that noise?”

“Wheooooeee,” Olivia copied, harmonising with the meter’s blare.

“Off the charts,” Dean said calmly, eying the line of red lights on the meter’s front. “You guys scared of ghosts?”

“No,” Emilio said. “We like seeing our friends again.”

Dean stared at the boy, stunned that a child could say such a thing so easily.

“Oh— Okay, well.” Dean looked down, lip bobbing. “That’s cool. I guess.”

“His poops are purple,” Olivia said, pointing to the carpet beside the cat carrier. “See?”

Dean did see. “Huh,” he said, pulling a spare packet of chopsticks out of his jacket. He slipped them from their paper sleeve, rolled them in his palms, then snapped them apart, leaning close to poke the purple slug.

He drew the chopstick upward, and the slime stretched with it.

“Ectoplasm?” he said, but he wasn’t sure. “God, that’s weird. Everything about this is weird.”

He pulled out a Ziploc baggie, and began scooping the gloop inside, frowning when it spilled over the chopsticks and dribbled everywhere. In the light from the rabbit, he could see the texture was inconsistent: there were flecks of something dark in the slime. Unusual.

Dean wriggled his nose, trying to hold back a sneeze. He held his breath, sealing up the full baggie, then bent his head and sneezed into his inner elbow. He exhaled, eyes watering and stinging at once. “Oh, man.” He stood up, pocketing the gloop, then looking at the chopsticks, looking for a garbage can, and then tossing them straight in. “Well, that’s that. Look, I hate to break it to you, kids, but I’mma have to borrow your bunny for a while. Figure out what’s wrong with him. It’s like he’s going to the doctor, but... for really complicated problems. We’re gonna try make him better.”

“Is Troyano gonna be okay?” Olivia asked, tugging her pigtail.

“I hope so,” Dean said, lifting the carrier and lugging it back towards the hallway, looking down at the handle. “I really hope so. I have a soft spot for bunnies,” he admitted, glancing at the children. He winked. “Don’t tell anyone.”

The children grinned, following.

Charlie stood up, seeing Dean return. She flipped her notebook closed, tucking her pen beside it, and slipping both into her shoulder satchel. “Well, Ms. Hernández, I think we have all we need for now. We’ll keep you updated – I have your number, and your email address. And should worst come to worst, I can leave a YouTube comment. We’re all set.” She reached to shake Ms. Hernández’ hand with both of her own. “Thank you for the extra tea. Wishing you the very best, okay? We’ll get your rabbit back to you as soon as we can.”

The mother nodded, taking her children’s shoulders, huddling their bodies beside hers like a mother hen with her chicks. “Thank you, agents.”

“Anytime.”

Dean opened the front door for Charlie, and followed her out, giving the kids one last wave.

“Bye, Troyano! Byee!”

Dean followed Charlie back to the Impala, chewing his tongue in thought. “Purple ectoplasm,” he said. “With _bits_ in.”

“They bought a rabbit to fill the void after their last pet died,” Charlie said. “Then it kinda seems like a void filled the rabbit.”

Dean placed the cat carrier in the back seat, hushing it when it started to scrabble around.

“No food?”

“Doesn’t eat or drink,” Dean said.

“Well, that’s a budgeting hack right there,” Charlie uttered, getting into the front passenger seat. She looked back at the carrier. “Shhhh, bunny. It’s okay.”

Dean slammed the driver’s side door, also looking over his shoulder. “Hey, chill out back there. Don’t scratch the leather, dude.”

He started up the engine, and as the vehicle began to shake, the rabbit began to squeak. Dean’s eyes widened, chills running up his spine. But he put the car in gear, then eased out into the empty street.

They’d made it as far as the metro and the train tracks over the road before the rabbit got _really_ angry. Charlie looked back and gasped. Dean kept driving, but asked, “What, what is it?”

“Um. The box is floating.”

“What!” Dean turned his head to look. Indeed, the cat carrier was pressed to the roof of the Impala, sinking a little, then bumping back up. “Jeeeeez.” He looked back at the road, swerving to get back in the right lane. A gust of wind slashed dead leaves across the windshield, and Dean puffed out a breath, as if he could blow them away. He turned the wipers on, then off, shaking his head. He snorted. “Hey, at least a glowing, floating rabbit would make cool decor. You know. For your Halloween party.”

Charlie scoffed. “Who parties when there’s a rabbit to save? I mean, no way I’m giving up, but honestly, let’s face it: unless we can fix this before tomorrow, there won’t _be_ a Halloween party.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Dean’s and Charlie’s headquarters were based on the second level, right above Mrs. Tran’s restaurant. As Dean pulled the Impala into the alleyway alongside the restaurant’s grey bricks, Charlie leaned into the car’s back seat to pick up – or more accurately, pull down – the rabbit’s box.

“I’ll head upstairs, you talk to Kevin,” Dean said, pulling the gloop bag out of his pocket. “Ugh.” He handed it over. “Good luck with that.”

Charlie passed Dean the rabbit. “Good luck with _that_.”

The angry rabbit bumped up one side of the carrier, and Dean grunted, winded by the blow.

“If I get beat to death by this thing, tell Sammy it had fangs and was the size of a hellhound,” Dean said, getting out of the car.

“Nope,” Charlie smiled, as they seperated, and Dean climbed the metal staircase while Charlie ducked underneath. “Your epitaph will say you were ganked by a fluffy bunny.”

Dean grumbled, fighting the airborne box as he ascended to the office, rummaging in his pocket for the keys.

Below, Charlie pushed open the restaurant’s back door, calling, “Hello-oo? Kevin?”

Mrs. Tran burst into view, her black bob and slanted eyes taking up all Charlie’s attention, until she noticed the spatula Mrs. Tran was wielding and became transfixed by that. “Kevin has studying to do,” Mrs. Tran said sternly. “What do you want?”

Charlie shrank back. “Um. Um. Urgent. Urgent paranormal investigation business. Need to borrow KevinfortenminutesI’msorry.” She ducked, eyes closed, expecting to be spatula’d.

She peeked open one eye, and relaxed when she saw Mrs. Tran step back. Exhaling, Charlie straightened, adjusting her shirt collar at her throat.

“Five minutes,” Mrs. Tran said, as Kevin perked up like a puppy hearing the word ‘walk’.

Charlie grinned. Taking advice from _Star Trek_ was always a good idea. Scotty always said a job would take ten minutes if he only needed two, and now Charlie had a whole five minutes. Five!

Charlie approached Kevin with the baggie of smush in her outstretched hand. She opened her mouth to explain—

“No evidence on the counters!” Mrs. Tran barked from the pantry. “And don’t touch the door handle when you leave!”

Charlie whispered, “Need you to examine something for me. Got a possessed rabbit upstairs that’s been pooping what looks like ectoplasm, but—”

“But ectoplasm is black,” Kevin said, taking the sample with both hands. “Green for especially vexed spectres.” He held the bag to the fluorescent light, tilting his head. “Contains unidentified particles. Looks foliated in appearance. Dark green. Totally dead, that much is obvious.”

“Any ideas?”

“Need the microscope,” Kevin said, already making his way across the kitchen. He swerved fry cooks in white, and their billowing clouds of steam, and Charlie followed, apologising in the small amount of Mandarin she knew as she bumped elbows and darted left to avoid a scorching oil vat.

Kevin pulled a microscope out from a shelf of noodle presses. He perched on a barstool and prepared a glass slide, careful not to contaminate a single part of the kitchen with goop.

Charlie craned close, as if she’d be able to see what Kevin saw as he adjusted the eyepiece, focusing it on the slide.

“See anything?”

“Plenty,” Kevin said, his black brows knitting together. “This microscope isn’t powerful enough to get to a cellular level so I can’t tell you fo- _sho_ whether this is ectoplasm. But this—?” He took a slim metal tool, prying a piece of the green stuff onto the end. He got up, glancing around to see if anyone was looking.

Then he shot to the nearest open flame, placed the fleck into the heat, watched it burn, then wafted the smoke into his nose, inhaling.

“Hm.”

“Hm?” Charlie asked.

Kevin shrugged, wandering back to the microscope. “Its scientific name is _nepeta cataria_. No psychological high for humans the way there is for marijuana – we don’t have the receptors in our brains... But there is in cats.”

“Cats—?” Charlie gasped, “It’s catnip. The green stuff is _catnip_.”

Kevin handed back the contaminated slide, and Charlie sealed it into the baggie with the rest of the mush.

“Thanks, Kev. Big help.”

“Sorry I can’t help more,” Kevin said, with genuine regret. “Someday.”

Charlie patted Kevin’s arm. “There’s a desk upstairs with your name on it.”

“Really?”

“Well, no, the desk says ‘call Chandra for a good time’ and ‘Brittany iz a losr’ – we lifted it from a sorority – but yes, really. You’re already part of the team.” With a smile, Charlie leaned in and gave Kevin a hug.

Kevin hugged back, then leapt away before his mother came in with a handful of new orders. “Contamination,” he explained, as Charlie grinned, slinking away already.

“Thanks for your time, Mrs. Tran! Kevin’s saving the world already! When he runs for President, I’ll be voting for him.”

As Charlie left without touching the door handle, she looked back, glad to see that spatula was nowhere in sight, and Kevin looked much happier to go back to his books than usual.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Back at the office, Charlie opened the door and stepped off the staircase, eyes on Dean. Dean perched against that graffitied desk, desk phone to his ear, bowed legs set apart. He gave Charlie a wave, then untucked his shirt and said into the phone, “Yeah. _Exactly_ like ectoplasm, but purple. The kids said the rabbit was pooping it. I dunno if they meant literally, or whether it just appeared in the rabbit’s general vicinity and they made assumptions, but...?” His tongue slipped over his lower lip, and he shook his head. “Hang on, I’m putting you on speaker. Charlie’s here.”

He hit the button and lay the phone on the desk.

“ _Uh. Yeah. Like I said,_ ” Sam said at the other end of the line, “ _Without looking at it I can’t confirm whether or not it’s ectoplasm. I’m still driving back and I’m not gonna be there until tomorrow evening. If this Halloween party is really such a big deal—_ ”

“ _Ob_ viously it is,” Charlie said, dumping the Ziploc baggie on the desk, the glass slide inside padded by the squish. “When else do I manage to get non-convention-going plebs to cosplay? Halloween is the best holiday of the year. Even beats Christmas.”

Sam and Dean gave the same offended gasp.

Charlie grinned, folding her arms. “Sorry, that should’ve come with a warning label. Caution: may contain traces of personal opinion.”

“ _Look, if you’re in such a big hurry to solve the case, get someone else to check the sample. Kevin?_ ”

“Kevin says the green stuff is catnip,” Charlie said.

“ _Catnip?_ ” Dean mouthed silently. Charlie nodded.

“ _And the rest of it?_ ”

“Microscope ain’t powerful enough.”

“ _Hm. You should call the lab guy. You know, the_ actual _FBI agent who isn’t breaking the law every time he flashes his badge._ ”

Dean groaned. “I _hate_ that guy.”

“ _Well, it’s either that, or wait until I get back, so._ ” Sam cleared his throat.

Dean sighed, arms tightly folded. He glared at a random spot on the carpet.

“You’ll be here for the party, right, Sam?” Charlie asked.

“ _Fingers crossed._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes. He didn’t care for parties any more than he cared for herbal tea. It was amazing that someone so antisocial could be a) so great with kids, and b) still willingly partnered with Charlie after seven whole years.

“Promise me you have a costume,” Charlie said to Sam, but waited for Dean’s reaction.

Dean gave a tiny smile.

Oh, yes.

Now the party _had_ to happen. Charlie had wanted to see Dean in a non-work-related costume for so long, and so badly, that if this party didn’t happen... God, she’d probably just explode. And if the only chance they had of solving the case quickly was to call in outside help, so be it.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 


	2. ‘Quaternary’ Means ‘All the Good Labs Were Already Occupied’

Due to the anything-may-happen nature of business in this office, Dean and Charlie had a collection of iron fire grates stacked up against a back wall. Dean now arranged them in a semi-circle around that far wall, so the rabbit’s floating container would stay in one place. He placed a sigil onto the carpet with duct tape, and shook a circle of rock salt down on top too, for good measure. He didn’t know what would hold a supernaturally-powered rabbit, or what would do nothing, so did everything just in case.

“He’s not even a real lab guy,” Dean complained, as Charlie looked up the FBI agent’s direct telephone line. “They put him on the bench because he kept trying to tag along on field missions he wasn’t assigned to. God, he always has to be the _best_ , and do the _most_ , and – and – _ugh_.” Dean slammed a pile of books atop the cat carrier to make it stay down. “They demoted him to the FBI’s least lucrative position and he goes around pretending he’s boss of his own department. One college biology credit and suddenly he’s microscoping things like he invented it.”

“Sure,” Charlie said, dialling the number written on her FiloFax card, “but _isn’t_ he boss of his own department, given he’s the only one there?”

“Not the point.”

“And if _you_ were chained to a desk while other people were out there on field missions, wouldn’t _you_ try and tag along in your free time, do some good work, and hope someone notices you and gives you more responsibility?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And if you were then demoted as punishment, wouldn’t you try and make the best of it? Do the best you can do? Be a goody-goody and don’t make trouble in case there _is_ a worse position than examining random crap sent in by random agents?”

Dean folded his arms, clearly trying not to pout. Charlie smirked, always happy to win an argument by making someone _relate_.

Charlie hit dial, then speakerphone, and held the phone out between her and Dean so they could both hear it ringing.

On the fifth ring, there came a crackle, then a lethargic, “ _H... hello?_ ”

“Dude, did you just wake up?” Dean blurted, and Charlie shot him a stern look. “What?” Dean said to Charlie. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Castiel, is that you?” Charlie said.

“ _Um? Yes. Yes. Here. Speaking._ ” Castiel cleared his throat, and there came a rustling; presumably he’d sat up and was desperately trying to sound awake. “ _Federal Bureau of Investigation, Quaternary Microscopy Department, how can I help you?_ ”

“Cut the official crap, Cas, it’s us,” Dean said. “Need a reading on some purple turds.”

Castiel snorted. “ _Always a pleasure, Dean._ ”

“Likewise,” Dean said, tensing his jaw.

“Seriously, though, there is an urgent rabbit-related matter to attend to,” Charlie said, while giving Dean a glare that said ‘be _nice_ , you utter child’. “Are you free today?”

“ _Free? Hah,_ ” Castiel said, before correcting himself solemnly, “ _Ummm. Yeah. I’m available. Would you like me to visit your office to collect the sample?_ ”

“Please.”

“ _I just need ten minutes,_ ” Castiel rushed. “ _Now, where are my shoes—_ ”

The call cut off, and Charlie looked at the phone in confusion before hanging up. “Guess he’s on the way.”

Dean rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms, lurching away from the desk. “He’s just free because nobody else calls him. What a loser.”

“Dean,” Charlie chided. “It’s not his fault. Don’t bully him.”

“I’m not bullying him—”

“What part of ‘ _what a loser_ ’ _doesn’t_ sound rude, insensitive, and insulting?”

“What— But I didn’t— That wasn’t what I—” Dean gave Charlie a sad look, exhaling. “Sorry.”

“Just be courteous, alright?” Charlie said. “He’s trying to help us, you butt. He always is. He’s never been _anything_ but kind and gentle, and hasn’t done anything to warrant... _this_.”

Dean gritted his teeth and looked away. He looked upset. But he said nothing, shrugged, then turned his back.

While Charlie busied herself arranging photos of Troyano the rabbit in a timeline of brown to luminescent lilac, tacking them to her wheely whiteboard, and labelling each with dates, Dean drifted in and out of the little office area. His bunk was in the store room, on the left of the stairway entrance. He claimed he didn’t live in this office, but he totally did. Slept here, showered here, ate, and pooped here. And Charlie was of the opinion that home was wherever the most-used toilet was. Which meant Dean lived here. He’d fashioned himself a nest amongst printer paper and projector slides, and seemed perfectly happy, even months on.

Charlie looked up from her timeline when she heard ka _bonk_ ing and _smushh_ elling coming from the nest. She peered in, and saw Dean tidying his bed. He rarely tidied his bed. He fluffed up the pillow, too.

Nervous energy, perhaps? If he really did hate the lab guy, the lab guy’s imminent arrival _would_ set him on edge.

Dean changed his shirt twice, each time coming into the office to ask Charlie if it suited him.

“Something nice planned later?” Charlie asked.

Dean gave a blank look.

“The shirt. Date later?”

Dean took a breath. “Oh. No.” He hesitated. “I mean, yeah. Maybe. Sort of.” He licked his lips. “Look, whatever, just tell me if the black makes my face look red.”

“No?”

“No. Okay.” Dean went back, and stuffed all the other shirts in a metal filing cabinet, then pulled on the black tee.

“Do you usually worry about a red face?” Charlie asked, smiling as Dean tried to choose between colognes. “I’ve never seen you blush.”

Dean shrugged. “Just in case.”

“But wouldn’t a potential mate _want_ to know they’re doing something right? Making you blush would be a good sign, no?”

Dean glanced at Charlie. He studied her, then looked away without a response.

Not too long later, he came up to Charlie and offered her his bare wrists. “Which?”

“What?”

“Sniff.”

Charlie inhaled, with Dean’s scented wrists forced one by one under her nose. She hummed. “Left. It’s more obvious.”

She kept an eye on Dean, truly bewildered when he put on the cologne he’d had on his _right_ wrist.

“My opinions don’t count now, is that it?” Charlie joked. “Or can’t you tell left from right?”

“You’re not the one I’m trying to impress,” Dean said simply.

“Who _is_ the lucky someone?”

“Nobody,” Dean said. “Honestly, dude, you call yourself a feminist. A guy indulges in a little self-care and suddenly it’s because he’s trying to impress someone. Can’t I just do me for _me_?”

Charlie raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Dean’s explanation sounded like straight-up bullshit but she couldn’t say so, or explain why she thought such a thing.

Upon noticing Charlie’s silence, Dean looked kinda smug.

Asshole.

But Charlie loved him anyway.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

The moment Charlie opened the door, Castiel parted his chapped lips, and sighed. He’d arrived at the office wearing a lab coat over a grey shirt and black slacks, but the professional get-up couldn’t hide the scruff on his jaw or the bags under his eyes. He held up his FBI badge, not noticing it was upside-down.

“You look like crap,” Dean said, taking the door from Charlie and thumbing over his shoulder, inviting Castiel in.

“Dean!” Charlie snapped.

“ _What_ , I say it out of concern,” Dean said, altogether too flippantly.

“You look as attractive as always, Dean,” Castiel bit out, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. He breezed past, leaving Charlie in a cloud of two merging colognes. She shut the door, shaking her head as the followed the men in.

“Can I get you anything?” Charlie asked Castiel. “Water, whiskey? Ms. Hernández gave us some really nice herbal tea, it’s in the fridge if you—”

“No, no, thank you, I’ll just take your sample and get out of your way,” Castiel said, still glaring at Dean. “The evidence is ample: I’m not especially welcome.”

“Heyy, no, don’t pay any attention to what Dean says,” Charlie said. “Baby bird rolled out of his nest on the wrong side.”

Castiel looked around, taking in the sight of half-prepared Halloween decor: plastic lanterns, lopsided ghouls, and a collection of lacy spiderweb tablecloths were all folded and piled at the side of the single desk.

“I suppose Halloween season feels much like the rest of the year to you,” Castiel said, going forward and placing a briefcase flat on the desktop. “Villains in masks, and people weaving you their spooky tales.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean snarked. “Yeah, that’s us. Living a _joke_ , day in, day out. Putting on costumes and searching people’s attics or breaking into crypts only to find out we’ve been punked. That rabbit just _looks_ like it’s purple. All smoke and mirrors, oh boy.”

“Halloween is _way_ more exciting,” Charlie said, hurriedly offering Castiel a chair to distract him away from the purple rabbit. “We get to throw a party, for one.”

“A party?” Castiel sat down slowly, gaze set intently on Charlie. “That sounds... fun.”

The hope in his eyes was immediately too much to bear, so Charlie said, “Yeah, it totally will be. You can come if you want! Tomorrow, starts at four. Wear a costume – nothing culturally appropriative – and bang, you’re in.”

Castiel looked delighted. “Oh. Thank you. Thank you very much. I’ll be there.”

Dean grunted like he’d been squashed with a mallet. Neither Charlie nor Castiel spared him a glance.

“I mean,” Charlie went on, “that’s all as long as the party goes ahead. It seems like it would be kind of insensitive to celebrate without putting this rabbit right first. We don’t know exactly what’s wrong with it, and it’s manifesting this stuff on every square foot of the room.” She handed Castiel the baggie of purple glop. “The green flecks are catnip, for whatever reason, but we haven’t figured out what the purple stuff is yet.”

“I see,” Castiel said, stroking the squishy bag with a thumb.

Charlie shot Dean a glance, expecting him to speak next, but Dean was busy glaring at Castiel’s forehead, arms tightly folded, jaw tense. Charlie leaned over and elbowed him in the side.

Dean jumped. “Whuh?” He drew himself together, and after some laboured mental navigation, he managed to say, “Look, Cas, here’s the deal. We need your... help. Your fancy microscope or whatever. Just tell us what this crap is. And then you can go back to napping at your desk.” He chewed around nothing, then finished, “Please.”

Castiel raised his sharp brows, looking Dean in the eye. “Of course, Dean. Nothing would give me more pleasure than helping you.”

Dean huffed.

Castiel stood, ready to leave – but first he lingered, apparently taking in the image of Dean and Charlie standing together, Dean’s solid, muscular form pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Charlie’s suit jacket and shaggy red bob. “You know,” he said with a wonky smile, “you look exactly like Mulder and Scully from _The X Files_.”

Charlie grinned. “I know, right? ‘Cept he’s Scully.” He nudged Dean.

Dean hung his head, smiling gently.

Castiel’s amusement faded, and his eyes darted to Dean, studying him for a number of silent seconds. Then he drew a breath, and asked Charlie, “Are you two... dating?”

Charlie raised her eyebrows, while Dean coughed a laugh.

“Would be,” Dean said. “Except Charlie’s a flaming lesbian.” He stepped forward rather aggressively, eyes locked to Castiel’s. “Why?” he demanded. “You interested?”

Castiel’s lips parted, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He failed to speak. He only stared, holding Dean’s gaze with equal intensity. After a handful of heartbeats, his stare seemed to strengthen, his shoulders squaring with Dean’s, his breath short and his fist gripping the purple baggie.

With a single touch to Dean’s back, Charlie broke the tension; Dean turned away, nonchalant, while Castiel shut his eyes, licking his lips, bowing his head. Charlie had no clue what to make of the situation. There were sparks and heat between them, but despite Dean’s obvious abrasion, the vibes coming off Castiel didn’t feel like hatred. More like... longing?

The poor guy had deflated now. But his fist still clung to the sample, so tightly it looked fit to burst.

“Hey,” Charlie said lightly. “You know what, I think you could do with a tupperware box for that bloop, don’t you?” She took the baggie and turned towards the office’s kitchenette, glancing over her shoulder to see what would happen once she left.

She rattled and bumped around looking for a box, clattering it to make noise even once she found it. But she could see Dean and Cas through the doorway, and they hadn’t moved an inch. So she focused her attention on transferring the sample, paying the boys no mind.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Dean strode over to the fire grates, glaring at the rabbit. “So,” he said, speaking up so Castiel could hear him. “Are we not gonna talk about this?”

“About what?” Castiel asked, approaching. “The rabbit?”

In this light, with the crate trapped under heavy books, the rabbit looked perfectly normal. Not purple or floating at all.

“No,” Dean said. “Not the stupid rabbit. You. Coming in here and inviting yourself to our party and getting in the way under the pretense of ‘making yourself useful’.” Castiel looked taken aback, and Dean knew full-well he was being a class-A jerk, but persevered nonetheless: “You’re always trying to _help_ , always trying to be _kind_ , and _good_ , and frankly, Cas? I’m sick of it. I thought it was an act, but it’s not, is it? No wonder no FBI team wants you, you angelic little choirboy. You’re showing all those _lesser_ agents up. Bet you were teacher’s pet in school. Never broke a single rule.”

Castiel wasted no time acting confused. “You called _me_ for help, Dean.”

“Puh!”

“What’s this really about?” Castiel asked, never one for taking bullshit. His too-blue eyes scoured Dean’s expression, searching for a tell. Dean tried not to give one, but his eyes betrayed him – he glanced at Castiel’s lips, helplessly wondering if they were so chapped because he needed to be kissed. Dean hated himself at once: Castiel saw right through him.

“We slept together,” Castiel said, that deep voice doing horribly, horribly nice things to Dean’s gut. “We slept together, and I left afterwards... and I didn’t respond to your messages. That’s why you’re angry.”

“Oh, spare me!” Dean flexed his jaw, spitting out, “Come _on_ , it was obviously a one-time thing. Anyone with half a brain could figure that out. We went to town in the heat of the moment after a case; who the hell would be naive enough to expect more after _that_?” ( _You would_ , said the angry voice in his head.) With a snort, Dean added, “I sleep with people like that all the time. Take a hint, Cas: you weren’t special.”

That last bit hit Castiel, and hit him hard. Dean saw the compassion in his face melt away to hurt. He turned his face, avoiding Dean’s eyes.

His always-rough voice was just a might too quiet. “I haven’t slept with anyone since you, Dean.”

And that one, curious, soft-hearted part of Dean couldn’t resist wondering...

Did Cas actually _like_ him....?

Dean looked at Castiel carefully. Watched him swallow, and blink, and turn away with stiffening shoulders.

Nah, Dean thought. Too ridiculous.

Ridiculous!

...Right?

Charlie returned, and Castiel perked up, back to his usual unreadable self. “Aha. Thank you, Charlie.” He put the container into his briefcase. “I’ll take this to the lab now, I should get back to you within the hour.”

“Can we come too?” Dean asked. “We’ve never seen this so-called lab of yours.”

Castiel shot Dean a chilling look. “ _No_ ,” he said, with childish defiance. “Neither of you are real FBI agents, you don’t have clearance.”

Charlie and Dean exchanged a surprised glance.

“You thought I didn’t know?” Castiel flicked his eyes to the ceiling. “For goodness’ sake. You don’t have seatbelts in your car. The only FBI protocol you follow is the sort seen in movies.” He looked directly at Dean and said, “Besides that, Dean – your staff ID says ‘bikini inspector’. I’ve known you’re both frauds since the day we met.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. All the official-sounding dirty-talk Dean had muttered that special night must’ve seemed like a joke to Castiel.

Damn. Now that was embarrassing.

“Before I go, may I pet your rabbit?” Castiel asked. He leaned down over the iron fire grates, stretching towards the criss-crossed grill in the cat carrier.

“Be careful...” Charlie warned, but Castiel was fine. He gave the rabbit soft scratchies atop its fluffy forehead, and the rabbit wriggled its nose, giving Castiel an innocent sniff.

Castiel stood straight, smiling. “Pity it’s in a cage,” he said. “I hate seeing animals locked up.”

“We’re working on it,” Charlie promised, ushering Castiel to the door. “The quicker you diagnose the sploop, the quicker the rabbit is free to hop around a yard and chew up the baseboards.”

Dean sidled up to the rabbit to make sure Castiel hadn’t broken it somehow. Looked fine. Suddenly, Dean felt his nose itch, and his body spasmed and a surprise sneeze shot a cloud of spittle into the air.

The last Dean saw of Castiel was a disgusted expression and a flash of that white lab coat – and then he was gone. Charlie pressed both hands to the closed door, then rested her forehead on it, too.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Furrwhat,” Dean said, sneezing again, then blinking hard to clear the blurs in his eyes.

“Not tearing the guy a new hole,” Charlie muttered, going to the fridge and pulling out a juice bottle.

“Barely uses the ones he has,” Dean murmured, but when Charlie glanced his way, muttered, “Nothin’.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

There were some things on Dean’s cellphone that he refused to delete.

One: the grainy photo of Sam waving from the wings of his school play – _Our Town_. The snapshot had been transferred from phone to phone whenever Dean got a new one. It was important for obvious reasons. He liked being reminded that Sam had been shorter than him, once. And, that there were always good reasons to let Sam leave on business trips for weeks on end, and those reasons started and ended with one: Dean looked after Sam for years, as children – and now they were adults, Sam looked after Dean.

The Taylor Swift ringtone was the second thing Dean wouldn’t dare move into his trash folder. He’d paid for that, dammit, and it wasn’t like he could sell it on Ebay. So he kept it, even though it took up space.

Okay, maybe he still liked it. Just a bit.

The third, he couldn’t really figure out _why_ he kept.

He’d set up his phone to upload an audio file of all the messages he left for other people to an online cloud, to keep a timestamped record of calls made during cases, and keeping a paper trail in case he went missing, and so on. He could access all the audio from his phone. But he’d deleted these particular files online, so Charlie wouldn’t hear them if she ever went looking for something else.

And Dean kept the originals on his phone. His only backup. His only evidence.

Sometimes he listened to the files. They embarrassed him in his own company, hearing how his voice became more and more desperate with each call he’d made. But there was something in them, in his voice, in his words, that he found fascinating, and moving. And important.

“ _Hey, Cas. Listen, I had a real awesome time last night. Not solving the murder – although that was cool too. I mean. You know. After. Ruining our friendship. Best part of the night. Was just wondering – maybe we could take it up a notch. I got a voucher for a night at a motel. Maybe you and me could... hey, head over there and trash the place. Turn it upside-down. If you know what I mean. And— And by that I mean I’d turn_ you _upside-down. In case that wasn’t— Uh. Okay. Yup. Call me. That’s all... Uh. Oh! It’s Dean, by the way. Um. Yeah. Bye._ ”

“ _Hey, it’s me again. It’s Dean. I left a message last night. Figure you’re busy, and all, so. Just wanted to tell you, I’m... not looking for anything serious. Just some fun. Two guy friends. No clothes. A rough night with a pair of handcuffs? Don’t let anyone tell you I don’t bite. ‘Cause I bite. Let me know. I bet I could rock your world a couple times over. Call me._ ”

“ _Uhhhh. God. Okay. Maybe I should be taking a hint here. It’s been a week and you haven’t called. But, like. It doesn’t even have to be a whole night, Cas. We could just get busy in the backseat, y’know? Heh. Or. Cybersex is a thing, right? You tell me where to put my fingers, and I show you how I do it. Look, I can’t be plainer about it, man: I want you again. Real bad. Seriously. Call me. You know my number._ ”

“ _It’s Dean. Hahhhh. You’re not gonna call me, are you. Alright. That’s... that’s fine. I can back off. Whatever, I don’t care. But you’re missing out on the night of your life, Cas. Hottest sex you ever had. I could’ve guaranteed you that. I’mma give you another chance. Call me already, bud. Otherwise you get nothing._ ”

“ _Cas... Look... I’m... Mmmm. I know we’re... we’re friends, right? It used to be so easy to talk to you, man. I know we ruined— Shit. Maybe what we did was a mistake. I still want you but you won’t call me. How do I...? How...? Hh... Urgh! Oh, screw this. Screw you, Cas. I’m out._ ”

“ _It’s me. I... I can’t do it any more, man. I can’t wanna bang you, have you ignore me, and still think of you as a friend. I just can’t, Cas. I think... I think this is it. I think it’s over. Everything. What we had. And our friendship. Calling you for help on cases. The lot. God. I’m— I’m not gonna tell you to call me. Don’t. Don’t call me or Charlie ever again. I can’t do it. Bye, Cas. Bye._ ”

They hurt to listen to. Dean stood by his reaction to being shut out, ignored. He stood by his desires. He’d had a good time and he wanted more. He stood by his anger; he still saw it as warranted.

But every time he played the files, something in his voice surprised him.

Longing? Sadness? Whatever it was, it was more powerful than lust. There was an _ache_. An ache that went deeper than what he said aloud. There was something Dean hadn’t said, or hadn’t properly realised, and it didn’t take a genius detective to read between the lines. There was something _there_.

Yet Dean didn’t know what it was.

He often considered deleting everything and pretending it never happened. But he never did.

He didn’t know why.

It was like he didn’t want to let go.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

As much as Dean loathed the guy, Castiel had favourable opinions on freeing caged animals. While Charlie wasn’t looking, Dean unclipped the cat carrier’s lock, and upturned the thing so the rabbit plopped onto the carpet.

“There,” Dean said. “Four square feet of carpet, all for you. Just promise not to stain it with more purple than you already have.”

Charlie came closer, curious.

By the time she got to Dean’s side, the rabbit was floating at waist height.

Dean leaned in and pushed the rabbit down.

It floated back up, this time to shoulder height.

Dean reached—

Charlie took his arm and pulled it back. “If it reaches the ceiling we’re not getting it back.”

So Dean left it floating there, at shoulder height, glowing lilac and doing absolutely nothing.

“Looks real sad.” Dean stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Sorry, bud. We’re tryna help you out here, pinkie swear.”

“Cas is gonna notice,” Charlie said. “Floating rabbit. Kinda draws the attention.”

“Pff,” Dean shrugged. “He’s seen enough magical evidence whenever he comes in here. He just ignores it all because – and I quote—” Dean deepened his voice to Castiel’s gritty monotone, “‘ _Actually, yes, Dean, science_ is _like magic, but it differs in one respect: it’s real._ ’” Dean scoffed. “Bet you anything he’ll see this rabbit and say it swallowed a tank of helium. Freakin’ _Looney Tunes_ is more realistic to him than the crap we deal with.”

“You seem to know him pretty well,” Charlie said. “Better than I do, anyway.”

“Yeah. I guess. Known him ages, bound to happen.”

“Mm. Almost like you were paying attention.”

“Hey, I always pay attention!”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie grinned. “So who left the empty milk carton in the fridge and a teetering stack of empty toilet rolls in the bathroom?”

“House elves lookin’ for a pay rise?” Dean tried, assuming referencing _Harry Potter_ would score him some points with Charlie.

And, sadly... he was right.

Apparently Castiel wasn’t the only one Dean knew pretty damn well.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 


	3. The Little Ghost Host

At some point, in the three hours between the moment Castiel left Dean and Charlie’s office, and the moment he returned, it had started raining in Chicago. It was a subtle downpour, with big spaces between medium droplets, casually spit-spotting onto Castiel’s labcoat, cooling his neck and tickling his forehead.

He stood at the top of the metal staircase, its twisted black iron bannister grasped in his palm, as if holding something ice-cold would hold together his sanity.

Raindrops hitting the leaf litter in the alleyway below made up a soothing background noise, but the stench of autumn rot was too strong, almost as overpowering as the mouth-watering wafts of MSG and fried vegetables, emerging in the steam from the restaurant kitchens.

After one deep inhale, Castiel realised he was hungry.

He raised his fist and knocked twice on the door.

He swallowed, wavering on his feet.

Charlie opened the door, and the light on her pale face and gleaming in her hair seemed mesmerising, like something out of a dream. A dream where Castiel was welcomed inside, and he floated in, shoes on solid ground even when his well-formed world was busy turning upside-down.

“God, you’re soaking,” Charlie said, her voice echoing in from miles away. “How long were you standing out there? Lemme take this.”

Castiel let her remove his lab coat. He looked down at himself, seeing one rolled-up shirt sleeve and one unrolled sleeve. One side untucked. Tie twisted backwards.

“Were you mugged out there, or something?” Dean said, his shadow coming close. Both his hands took both Castiel’s shoulders, warm and comforting. “Hey. Cas. Look at me.”

Castiel looked at him. Oh, those wonderful green eyes. Castiel had missed being looked at like that.

“Are you hurt?” Dean asked.

_So badly_ , Castiel thought. But he took a shuddering breath, and shook his head. “Not physically. I just—?” He came to his senses, looking around at the office. Once night had fallen, this place became quite homely. The forest-green carpet may have become speckled with purple, but Dean was wearing slippers now, and there was something familiar playing on the TV.

Charlie muted the TV and came to their sides.

“It’s not real,” Castiel said, vision flickering as he blinked multiple times. “I mean— It is _real_. It’s real. It’s physical and observable and is made of particles. But. It’s. All life on Earth. All life, all minerals, all the fabric of the universe that we know of, it’s carbon based.”

“And...?” Charlie prompted.

Castiel looked her in the eye and said, “The sample you gave me is not carbon based.”

He bent to sit where he stood, and luckily Dean was paying attention, and shoved a chair under Castiel’s backside.

“We have to tell someone,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “The CDC. The FBI. NASA. I don’t know. This is impossible. But—”

“Hey,” Dean sighed, raising his hands in surrender. “Hey. Relax, man. You’re in on the secret, now. Scientists go about thinking there’s undiscovered elements in the Periodic Table. But, uh...” He shared a smug look with Charlie, and they both looked back, ready to inform: “That shit’s supernatural. Totally explainable, sure, but not really believable to the masses. So we keep it under wraps.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, a hardness in his tone he hadn’t planned on, “you’re telling me you _know_ of an undiscovered element?”

“ _An_?” Charlie smiled. “We can name you twelve.”

Castiel wanted to puke. At least that would be a natural reaction to finding out such a thing. Dean and Charlie were okay people, but they were adjacent to civilians, they certainly didn’t seem like the types to know of twelve major building blocks of existence that nobody else in the human race knew of.

“Pretend we’re clueing you in on some top-secret FBI knowledge,” Dean said. “You’re on the team now, Cas, accident or not.” He nudged Castiel’s drooping jaw closed with his knuckle. “How’s it feel?”

Castiel shuddered. “I need a drink.”

Charlie handed over a cup of coffee Castiel hadn’t noticed she’d been holding.

Dean went to a shady corner, bumped around some glass bottles, and came back holding a decanter of something amber. He offered it to Castiel, and at the first hint of a nod, sloshed in a good amount.

Castiel drank without tasting anything.

It burned, in more ways than one.

He breathed out, and nodded.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, put the bottle back, then went to the desk and picked up the phone. He pressed two buttons, then held the receiver to his ear. After a moment, he said, “Heya, Sammy. Yeah. Yeah, we brought Cas in. It _is_ ectoplasm, as it turns out. But purple. Cas is raving about finding a new element—” He laughed, bowing his head forward. “Tell me about it. Noob.”

Castiel bristled. But Dean winked at him, and somehow that made him feel better.

“Put Sam on speaker,” Charlie said, and Dean did.

“ _—colour of the plasm denotes the kind of ghost, but I’ve never come across purple before. Green for spectres. And spectres can possess living creatures, too, which run-of-the-mill ghosts don’t really do. Saying it’s a kind of spectre could potentially explain your possessed rabbit._ ”

“Ghosts?” Castiel said quietly. His hands trembled around his cup.

“ _Wait, was that Castiel, is he still there?_ ”

“He’s in the midst of an existential crisis, don’t worry about it,” Charlie said. “So we’ve got a purple-plasm-producing poltergeist possessing poor Troyano over there. How do we get it out?”

Spurred to life by intrigue, Castiel asked, “How are you sure it’s a ghost at all? Why not something less fantastical? What if the rabbit was simply poisoned, and now its feces contains traces of—”

He made the mistake of looking at the rabbit as he spoke about it.

The rabbit was floating five feet in the air, glowing faintly, and staring right at him.

“Oh,” Castiel said. He blinked. “Okay. Never mind.”

“Go on, Sammy,” Dean said into the phone.

“ _Um. So. Animals don’t usually become possessed, not by ghosts, or by demons. I suppose it happens but it’s rare. Not something I’ve researched deeply._ ”

“Demons,” Castiel said, hearing the word anew. Suddenly it was more than a euphemism for a person’s destructive vices.

“Okay,” Charlie said. “Maybe Troyano’s possessed by another animal’s spirit. Or someone who believed desperately in reincarnation and happened to come back as a rabbit.”

“Hold up.” Dean ran his hand over his mouth. “There’s something in that. Animal spirit, thing.”

“How so?”

“Well, I got a hunch...” Dean made his way to the fire grates. Then he turned and went to a filing cabinet, tucked away in a shadowy corner of the room. “Somewhere in here... Ah-buh-buh...”

“What are you looking for?” Charlie asked.

“You remember a couple Easters ago,” Dean started, “you babysat for your friend’s niece while she was in the hospital. And the little girl shows up with her furry sidekick. And a basket of toys.”

“Oh, the—” Charlie brightened. “OH!”

Dean shot her a huge grin. “Yeah.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said.

“ _Me neither,_ ” said Sam on the phone.

Dean finished rummaging in the filing cabinet, coming up victorious. There was a little rainbow blob between his fingers. He shook it, and it jingled. He sniffed it, and shrugged.

“We don’t have the brain receptors for catnip,” Charlie said. “Or so Kevin said.”

“But maybe...” Dean held out the toy to the rabbit.

The rabbit gave the toy a sniff-sniff-sniff.

Then all hell broke loose.

Its eyes caught fire, its fur stood on end, its claws extended; Dean leapt back and took the toy with him – but he knocked a fire grate, smearing a ring of white powder on the carpet, and the rabbit shot towards him, chasing the jingly ball. Dean yelped and hurled the toy across the room, where it hit a pinboard – the rabbit dived after it, soaring through the air to snatch the ball with its fangs. Its back legs hit the wall and dust rained from the ceiling; the rabbit pinged across to the other side of the room and a line of filing cabinets slammed open, spewing papers in whirling gusts across the room.

Charlie screamed and threw herself to the floor, as the rabbit cut across the room at lightning speed, tearing lines through the plaster, singeing paper, sending books through the air like missiles. Dean stood amongst the chaos in awe and alarm, head turning to watch the creature wreak havoc on his home.

The rabbit paused on the ceiling, gnawing gently at the toy. Nibble-nibble-nibble. It shook its little head back and forth, making the bell jingle. And then it kicked off the ceiling and headed straight for Dean’s face.

“Dean—!” Castiel slammed himself into Dean’s side and forced him onto the floor, crooked elbows covering both their faces as the rabbit ricocheted from six different points in the room, one after the other.

Castiel lifted his head, meeting Dean’s terrified eyes.

There came a moment of silence. Peace. Just the two of them, lying together as white plaster rained down, sharing warmth, frantic heartbeats pulsing as one. This felt familiar. Felt good.

And then Charlie yelled, and they came apart; Dean shoved Castiel aside, and Castiel rolled away as a shower of paper flew out over his head. The carpet was littered with ceiling tiles and paper and books, and a black spiderweb-design tablecloth.

“Take this!” Castiel shouted, handing a corner to Dean. “Use it as a net!”

“Charlie!” Dean swished an arm. “As soon as it pauses, get behind it, we can herd it.”

Together, Dean and Castiel spread the tablecloth across the room, blocking off the doorways to the kitchen, bathroom, and Dean’s nest. Charlie crept forward in her fluffy socks over fallen tomes and shredded window blinds. The rabbit kept bouncing from wall to wall, but perhaps it sensed the humans’ determination, as it froze, stuck like a tree-frog with its paws on the side of the desk, wild eyes darting from place to place for an exit.

No matter what Castiel had seen, what he believed, or what he knew or didn’t know about the world, one thing was certain: a rabbit who knew he was trapped would probably panic. Did evolution design them to run away and survive to make babies, or stay and be caught, feeding a predator’s offspring? Perhaps it was fifty-fifty. Today, the rabbit stayed.

“Gotcha.” Dean scooped the net-caught Troyano into careful, confident hands, and cradled the lump to his chest like a baby. The rabbit still held the toy, and it jingled. Dean smiled, stroking the rabbit’s rounded back. “Easy as pie.”

Dean squeezed the rabbit back into the carrier, then pulled away the tablecloth. “I’ma—” He gasped. “I’mma—” He pulled a strange face, then tipped forward and sneezed, hard, and loudly.

“Aahhuhh...” He whimpered, turning away, leaving the tablecloth forgotten on the trashed floor. “I’m allergic to cats. That was my hunch.” He sniffed, wiping his nose on his bare forearm. “Keep sneezin’ when I get near this guy.” He blinked hard, then smiled contentedly. “Why would I be allergic to a rabbit, I wondered. Why would a rabbit be so interested in catnip? Put two and two together, and figured...?” He shrugged.

“Mr. Tickles,” Charlie said.

“What?”

“Mr. Tickles!” Charlie opened her hands out like the explanation was obvious. “Mr. Tickles was the pet that died! They lost one pet, then the Hernández family bought another: a rabbit! I’d bet my entire _collection_ of Halloween decorations that Mr. Tickles was a cat. And now he’s possessing Troyano.”

“ _Not to interrupt your brainstorming session or anything,_ ” came the tinny voice from the phone, “ _but, um, is everyone still alive? Besides the ghost cat?_ ”

Dean grinned, glancing around. “All accounted for. Charlie – you’re fine. Cas, you okay?”

Castiel smiled. “Very. This was really quite thrilling. I might even say fun.” He looked down. “I did get a papercut, though.” He held up his left forefinger. Dean pulled a sarcastically sympathetic face.

“Ghosts nearly always have unfinished business,” Charlie said, pondering with her arms folded, one hand boxed around her chin. She bent down to pick up a dented book from under her foot. “But what unfinished business would a _cat_ have?”

“Nobody cleaned its litterbox?” Dean said. “They never poop until the thing’s clean. I’d call that business unfinished.”

“Be serious, Dean,” Charlie said.

“I was! I know three things about cats and that’s one of them.” He did pause to think, however. “Troyano was fine with the kids, right? But he got mad when we took him away. Makes sense. This cat – Mr. Tickles – probably had a deep emotional connection to the family. That kinda thing keeps ghosts around. Hell, that cat must’ve really loved ‘em. Sounds crazy, maybe, but I guess not _all_ cats are unfeeling douchebags.” When Dean noticed Castiel looking at him, he flustered, and explained in a huff, “Charlie sends me loads of cat videos, okay?! Sometimes they’re cute, or whatever.”

Castiel decided, “We should take the rabbit back to them. Nobody likes being apart from the ones they lo— care about.” He swallowed, hastily studying the mess around them rather than looking to find out what Dean’s face was doing.

“It’s too late tonight,” Dean said softly. Castiel glanced at him, and saw a hint of a kind smile, at long last. “The kids’ll be headed to bed real soon – school night. Cas here took three entire hours to check the sample, so that ate up a lot of time.”

Castiel frowned. “A good experiment is repeatable. And the difference between screwing around and science is writing it down. I had to be sure. And I had to catalogue everything.”

“Okay, there, Bill Nye the Mythbuster Guy,” Dean muttered, though he smirked. “So, whatever. We’re stuck until tomorrow. In the meantime... God. Guess we’d better clean up this mess.” He put his hands on his hips, gazing at the rubble around them. “Sorry, Charlie, looks like the party’s off.”

“No!” Castiel shouted.

He gulped down a breath when the others peered his way. He dared not explain how badly he wanted to attend a real social gathering with actual people he really liked. He’d never had the opportunity before and he refused to be deprived because of a hyperactive ghost rabbit that wasn’t even meant to exist.

“No,” he said again, keeping his voice steady. “We don’t have to cancel anything. I can help you clean up here. I have an industrial vacuum cleaner in the lab I can bring over. And I’m okay at plastering walls. And— And as for the party...” He thought desperately for a solution, and his stomach flipped as the idea arrived. “We can... invite the mother and the children here. To the party. That way we have tomorrow to set up the decorations, and don’t lose any time working on the case beforehand.”

“Not the worst idea,” Charlie said to Dean. Dean shrugged. “I mean, really, what’ve we gotta do to fix this, all in all? If the cat just stuck around to say goodbye, it’s probably been procrastinating. Cats were never really get-in, do-the-job, get-out kind of animals. So it might need prompting. I can set up a proper farewell moment with Ms. Hernández.”

“That’s all?” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “That’s how you banish a ghost?”

Dean chuckled, patting Castiel’s back with a warm hand. “C’mon, man, releasing a ghost requires a lot more than a sweet farewell. We gotta go hunt down the cat’s grave, dig down, then salt ‘n burn the bones. Even when ghosts finish what was unfinished, they tend to linger on the mortal plane. We gotta... y’know. Give it a boot up the backside.”

“I hope you don’t mean that literally.” Castiel narrowed his eyes, then said, fully determined: “Then it’s settled. Charlie can help this cat say goodbye, and you and I, Dean, we’ll do the grave desecration, followed by the... um, seasoning and burning. And then we can come back here to enjoy the party.”

Dean sighed, shoulders slowly sinking down. “Fine,” he said, as Charlie smiled widely. “What Cas said.”

And with that, Castiel picked up a chunk of white brick. “Speaking of burnt seasoning, I’m hungry. Do you have any snacks?”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 


	4. Hate is Such a Strong Word

“Cas,” Dean said despairingly. “That’s your fourth fortune cookie! Leave them alone!”

“Hey!” Charlie called from the cityscape of loose papers over by the desk. “No food-shaming. He’s hungry.”

“I’m not food-shaming him, I’m complaining he’s eating all the cookies,” Dean said. “He already ate the backup noodles and the vegetable dumplings. He’s not hungry. He just likes the fortunes.”

Castiel crunched on the cookie, looking sheepishly at Charlie. Charlie realised Dean was right, and sighed. “Quit eating the magic cookies, Cas.”

“So,” Dean said, wiping his sweaty forehead with his plaid sleeve, “what’s this one say?”

Castiel scrolled out the paper from the inside of the cookie, still crunching as he read, “ _Your task is almost completed; stop before your energy is depleted._ ”

With that, Dean dumped one more glossy white brick at the side of the room, and dusted off his hands. “Well, guess we’re done, then.”

“Does anyone else find it peculiar how accurate these cookies are?” Castiel asked.

“Nope,” Charlie replied, neatening her paper stack, then moving away from the desk. “Three hours later and this place looks like it was hit with a sledgehammer... but a really tidy sledgehammer. And I am _beat_.”

Dean patted Castiel on the shoulder. “Thanks for the super-powered vacuum, bud. We would’ve been here all night without it.”

Castiel beamed, delighted to be called ‘bud’. “You’re very welcome.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean retrieved his hand, curling his fingers into a fist, looking at the dirt under his nails. “That party’s real important to Charlie. That’s the only reason I care. So.”

Castiel rolled his eyes towards Charlie, expecting to see a vindicating smirk, but Charlie was mid-yawn, stretching out her arms. “Welp,” she murmured, blinking. “I’m heading back to my place. I’ll be in late tomorrow – party food prep to do. Any requests?”

“More fortune cookies,” Castiel said.

“Dean?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m too gross to think straight, I need a shower. I’ll call you if I think of anything.”

Castiel hummed. “Well, if Charlie’s leaving, and Dean’s going to wash up, then I suppose I ought to go home as well.”

He half expected someone to ask him to stay, but nobody did, and they soon disbanded with tired farewells and ‘see you later’s.

So Castiel was left alone in a forest-green office with a lopsided stack of bricks on one side of the room, a bloated vacuum cleaner on the other, and a floating rabbit asleep beside the empty filing cabinets.

“I can’t leave the place like this,” Castiel said to himself, getting back to work. He lugged the vacuum outside and down the staircase, emptying it into the restaurant dumpster in the alleyway. He didn’t mind the rain, as it washed the dusty tickles off him. Alas, when he returned upstairs, he was more itchy than ever.

He was just wondering what to do next when Dean emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his waist and another swirled around his head.

“Oh!” Dean jumped, snatching the towel off his head. “You’re still here.”

Castiel fretted. “Apologies.”

“Oh my God, _dude_ , what happened to you,” Dean said, disgusted at Castiel’s appearance. “You’re all speckly.”

Uncomfortable, Castiel shifted in place. “I was dusty. And then the rain—”

Dean shoved his hair towel in Castiel’s direction. “Shower. Now. You’re not driving home like that.”

Castiel took the towel with his fingertips. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Nice?” Dean snorted. “I’m a fan of vintage cars, Cas. I know that Lincoln Continental of yours doesn’t deserve an assful of – that.” He gestured at Castiel’s entire being.

Castiel stepped towards the bathroom. He could feel the steam rolling from the open door. In the doorway, he looked back – and Dean looked away.

With a smile, Castiel shut the door between them.

Muffled through the door, he heard Dean yell, “ _And use my lip balm!_ ”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Twenty minutes later, the towel-clad Castiel peered out from behind the bathroom door. “Um... Dean...?”

Approaching the bathroom, head down, Dean shoved a pile of clothes in the door’s direction. “Take ‘em. Put ‘em on. And don’t mention this, ever.”

Castiel took the clean clothes and underwear and snuck back into the bathroom.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Perhaps one good thing that had come of the office’s destruction was that Charlie had been forced to move the filing cabinets away from the windows so she could rescue the collapsed blinds. And now the blinds were gone, the way was free, and for the first time, Castiel realised there was a _balcony_ out there.

Dean dragged a pair of battered armchairs into the centre of the office, facing each other at a slight angle, close enough that when Dean sat, then Castiel sat, their knees touched.

Soft sweatpants; Dean’s fuzzy knee.

Castiel’s bare feet; Dean’s blue slippers.

Castiel stared at the beer bottle Dean had handed him, watching the glass bead with condensation.

The room echoed with a ringing, a ringing that had rung since the great catnip incident of four hours ago.

For a while, Castiel wondered why he felt a vibration deep inside him, until he realised he was nervous. He glanced at Dean, then took a sip of his beer.

“Sssso,” Dean said, also fumbling with his beer, stroking it top to bottom, fingertips sliding through the dewdrops. “You, uh. How—” He cleared his throat. “How are you?”

“Now, or in general?”

Dean rolled a shoulder but didn’t meet Castiel’s eyes. “Whichever.”

“Better than I ought to be,” Castiel answered. He wet his lower lip, tasting lip balm. “Tired.”

“Bored,” Dean corrected.

Their eyes met.

Castiel smiled a little. “Bored. Yes. But—” He glanced around at the office, then back to Dean. “Not any more.”

Dean smirked, leaning back. “Hard to be bored, case like this.”

“Aren’t all your cases this strange?”

“Not all of them have bunnies,” Dean smiled. He chuckled, head down. “I like bunnies, kinda. Not so much when they’re possessed.”

Castiel’s smile sank, mind saturated with memories of the day, then the last few years. “I’m sorry I never believed you, Dean. All this time, I’d help you, but I saw your occupation as... a joke, a farce, a curiosity but not reality. Ghosts. Vampires. Demons.” Castiel shook his head, eyes unfocused. “Even now, I can scarcely wrap my head around it...”

“Hey.” Dean spoke softly, a smile crinkled around his shining eyes. “I get why you never believed us. It’s a lot to take in. And anyway... the fact you weren’t in the know almost made it _easier_ for us to come to you. It didn’t matter what crazy shit you saw, you’d find a way to hit factory reset on your belief system once you were done. We didn’t have to hide anything. Or explain anything, because you didn’t care.”

Castiel snorted. “I cared more than I let on.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I still do.” Castiel prayed the tenderness in his gaze would give a clear message.

But Dean looked away.

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel held out his hand. “Truce?”

Dean smiled widely, and took Castiel’s hand in his own beer-chilled palm. He met his gaze and squeezed his fingers. “Truce.”

When Dean pulled back, his breath caught. “I liked it, you know. What we had.”

“Today—?”

“You know when.” A muscle flickered in Dean’s jaw; his anger about their intimate past lingered, but Castiel forgave him that. “It wasn’t what I’m usually into,” Dean went on. “I mean – none of it. Frickin’ vanilla as Häagen-Dazs.” He pursed his lips. “Not my thing. But,” he swallowed, and finished, “it was fun while it lasted.”

“It was one night.”

“Yeah. And it was a good night for me. Before you became an insufferable jerk who can’t return a phone call and acts so sweet and innocent with those puppy-dog eyes and that resting sad face. Seriously, Cas. Decent sex is one thing – but God, I am _so_ over the perfect angel who can do no wrong.”

Castiel pressed his lips together, trying not to let his hurt show. “Well, I’m sorry,” he said, voice hard. “You left your filthy messages on my _work_ phone, so _forgive_ me for trying to preserve what little professionalism I had left by not replying to them. Besides, was sex all you ever wanted from me? Not just sex, but _rough_ sex. I’m sorry I’m not _dirty_ or _bad_ enough for you, Dean. That’s just how I am. You said it yourself, I’m too ‘vanilla’ for you. But if I’m not right for you, then why do you care? Why do you keep acting like I gave you something wonderful and then took it away to punish you? I left after we finished, that night, because it was like you said. It was a one-time thing. One-time... _The_ one time. My one time.”

Embarrassed by that confession, he lowered his gaze, but then bared another truth in the form of a question: “How am I supposed to justify repeated one-time-things that ultimately mean nothing to you?”

“What?” Dean sounded surprised. “Cas...”

Drawn in by Dean’s whisper, Castiel looked into his eyes, and was shocked to find hurt there. _Sadness_.

“We ruined our friendship,” Castiel said. “Your words, not mine. I thought... perhaps I could salvage it. Put things back the way they were. If I didn’t have sex with you again, if I ignored your advances, perhaps you’d be my friend again. But you... you didn’t stop. You kept asking. And then you cut me out entirely. And for what? You wanted to sleep with me more than you wanted to be my friend. Don’t you think that hurt _me_ , Dean? Something that meant _so much_ to me was _meaningless_ to you.”

Dean shook his head a tiny bit. “Sleeping together... with my _friend_? C’mon, Cas, it didn’t mean... nothing to me. It was the opposite. Why d’you think I wanted to do it again so badly?”

Castiel froze. He’d waited so long to hear that kind of response, but now he’d heard those words, he didn’t know how to react.

Dean swallowed, setting his beer down on the carpet. “I was thinking. You kind of _are_ a rule-breaker, when it matters. Right? You knew me ‘n Charlie were fakin’ the FBI thing to work our cases. And you just played along. Maybe you were just bored and we were the first interesting thing that came up, I don’t know. But the point is you did it. And you kept doing it. And whether you were aware of it or not, Cas, you helped us help a bunch of people who needed help. You’re kind of a hero.”

He smiled, but when Castiel couldn’t respond, Dean forced out, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was a jerk to you. I just—?!” He opened his hands, inhaling, eyes up to the ceiling. He started to chuckle, and bowed forward, one hand over his eyes. “Cas – you left after one night. So I thought a one-night-stand was all you wanted. But you left ‘cause _you_ thought—”

“I thought the same of you,” Castiel whispered, truly enraptured. Dean met Castiel’s gaze with confidence now, and tilted his head easily. “Dean, believe me,” Castiel said. “It’s not true. Our night together meant everything to me. I just couldn’t stand to see you again if it meant being rough or ‘kinky’ or _careless_ with you, like you asked for when you called.”

Dean let his grin fade from his lips, though it remained clear in the wrinkles beside his eyes. Colour had bloomed on his cheeks, made obvious by the heather grey t-shirt he’d put on after his shower.

A long silence stretched out, as Dean breathed, watching Castiel.

Castiel let Dean stare. He set down his beer beside Dean’s, and leaned towards him.

Castiel’s hands and Dean’s hands were close enough to touch.

So Castiel took Dean’s hand, and held it. He didn’t know what Dean thought, or what he wanted now. But he didn’t pull away.

“Cas?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“Look at me?”

Castiel did.

And lava sank through his bones, sparkling pink fire in his veins. He drew a small breath, caught off-guard by the desire and aching that took hold of him. Dean still wanted him. He could see it in his eyes, in the way he parted his lips, the way he licked them, the way his smile returned, putting wrinkles through the very last of his summer freckles.

Dean stood up. He kept ahold of Castiel’s gaze, taking a step to be closer. He rested his warm hand on Castiel’s crown, fingers combing through his damp hair. Brushing it back, thumbing it from his forehead.

Dean tried to speak, but his breath only escaped as a rasp, lip bobbing. He seemed pained for a moment, but then... he smiled. He simply cocked his head, inviting Castiel somewhere.

Castiel glanced in the direction Dean gestured, wondering what was there. The entrance to his private nook, where Dean kept his bed. A nest. A _boudoir_.

Castiel stood without thinking, grasping Dean by the back of his neck – and when he saw Dean’s lips part, he kissed him.

Kissed him hard. Kissed him, as a thick huff of breath flared his nostrils, with a hand taking Dean’s shirt, gripping it, yanking him closer. Kissing him until Dean melted, until Dean rested his body against Castiel’s, weak hands and helpless limbs.

The simplest, softest murmur of pleasure came from deep within Dean’s throat, and Castiel let the sound lead him, spurring him to move. He took Dean by the hand and pulled him towards the bedroom, glad to see Dean’s lips red, his eyes dark and eager and stunned. He stumbled like he was drunken, but he hadn’t swallowed enough of anything to get that way. He was drunk on relief and lust, just as Castiel was.

“I hate you,” Dean said, as Castiel pressed him to the bedroom door frame. “...Don’t I?”

Castiel kissed him, and let his nose rest upon Dean’s hot lips. “Do you?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.” He kissed Castiel, stroking his cheek. “I really, really... hate you.”

Furious, Castiel bit into Dean, snarling through a kiss, taking his hair in his fists. Dean cried out, sinking down the door frame, gasping in pain and obvious delight.

But Castiel frowned. He didn’t want to be hated. He wanted to be loved. But if this was the only way Dean would have him, so be it.

So he kissed harder, and pushed harder, and gripped Dean by the waist and pulled down his underwear, taking his buttocks in both hands, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. Dean sobbed, whispering affirmations, wanting more.

But as Dean felt better, Castiel felt worse. He kissed with force, pushed closer, but wanted to pull away. He shoved Dean towards the bed so hard Dean tripped, but Castiel wished he could have led him there gently.

Dean looked up, straightening, eyes agleam in the light stretching from the office. This was a dark room, a dark room of pleasure and lust and nothing else.

Castiel went still for a moment, offering a single soft touch to Dean’s cheek. Oh, how badly he wanted to caress him, and give him sweet kisses. Not this. Not this brutal display that Dean so enjoyed.

Something changed in Dean’s expression. A flicker. A spark of realisation.

Dean slowly raised his hand to cover Castiel’s fingers, sliding together over his blushing cheek.

Dean swallowed. His gaze grew more intense in a different way – caring, concerned. He tilted his head a slight, which recaptured Castiel’s attention. “Hey,” Dean said softly. “Cas?” He sucked his lower lip, then freed it, and freed Castiel along with it: “Don’t do anything you don’t wanna do.”

As appreciation washed through Castiel’s body, Dean began to smile. “Okay?” he asked.

Castiel nodded, and kept nodding. “Okay.”

And he leaned in, and gave Dean the softest, most loving kiss he’d ever given.

They parted.

Dean stared at Castiel, his shocked expression seen in the faint line of light.

Had he ever been kissed like that? Would he ever want to be, again?

Dean shut his eyes and leaned in for another.

They were truly addictive kisses. Castiel took Dean’s waist and hugged him, held his cheek and kissed him; he lay him down on his bed and lay with him, holding him like a lover ought to, the way Castiel imagined he ought to. The way he wanted to, and had wanted to all along.

They removed what was left of their clothes, and dug their bodies between the sheets, holding onto each other, holding each other’s gaze. The awe was still present in Dean’s stare. He hadn’t realised this was possible.

“Cas?” he asked, between two kisses.

Castiel lay over him, one hand supporting Dean’s head. “Yes?”

Dean’s lips remained parted, plump; he smiled the tiniest bit, a flash of gratitude minging with that ever-present wonderment. “I don’t hate you.”

Castiel grinned, and kissed Dean’s cheek. “I don’t hate you either, Dean. I never have.”

A sigh burst from Dean, and with it went the last of his tension and apprehension and worry. It was as if he’d been holding that same breath from the moment Castiel left his bed, so many months ago. And at last, he could breathe again.

He smiled. He kissed Castiel, and lay down comfortably in the bed. A soft laugh tumbled from him unexpectedly, and he rolled through the sheets, snatching the covers and pulling them up over both their heads. They had a private space, now. Warm. Humid. And soft.

An absence of _this_ was why Castiel left in the first place, really.

Dean hadn’t wanted to be loved before.

Maybe, now, he was ready.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 


	5. Great Scott! A Party!

Charlie waltzed into Dean’s nest with a song in her heart. “Rise and shiiiine,” she sang, leaning over the bed to reach the one tiny window. “Another glorious morning! Makes me _sick_!” She tore the drapes open, letting morning light stream into the dusty room and onto the lumpen mattress. “Up-up, Dean! Party to prepare for! Rabbit to rescue!”

She took the bedcovers and threw them back—

“Oh sshoOH my _God_!”

Dean lay half-naked in the bed, his body entwined with someone else’s... and only now did Charlie realise it was—

“ _Castiel_?!”

Castiel blinked hard, disturbed more by the sunlight than the lack of cover, but Dean was the one who yelped, alert, sitting up. He took one look at Charlie, then at Castiel – then shoved Castiel out of bed.

Castiel fell with a thump, and continued to lie on the floor, still half-asleep. He grunted.

Charlie looked at Dean in absolute costernation. Dean just grinned and shrugged.

Shaking her head, Charlie turned and left.

Not thirty seconds later, Dean came out of his room, pulling on a grey t-shirt. He looked sheepish, but smug, and sorry, but sex-ruffled – and frankly it was a lot of ways for one man to look all at once, so he went through each expression one by one, trying to speak and failing.

Charlie waited for a real explanation, but got none.

Castiel emerged from the room, looking exactly the same way Dean did, but with far more grace. Sheepish and smug and sorry and sex-ruffled. And a bit bumped. The floor wasn’t a great hugger.

“I—” Dean croaked, then hung his head. “I’mma make us some coffee.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

“Future repair bill aside,” Charlie said, hands on her hips, “I ain’t even mad.”

Since last night when the office was shredded, the whole place had been put back together, but the damaged pieces of white brick remained lined up against the rabbit’s wall. The worst of the ceiling damage was covered by the tablecloth, draped from roof to wall like a shade sail.

“Kinda looks like it was done on purpose,” Dean agreed.

After the extensive efforts of the morning, little paper towel ghosties hung from the ceiling by twine, twirling in place, twisted by a directionless draft. The windows to the balcony were covered by the broken blinds, which looked a mess but it all added to the aesthetic.

“You know what it looks like,” Castiel said, amusement brimming in his voice. “It looks like the place was attacked by a possessed rabbit.” He chuckled, then drew a breath, lifting his shoulders before he exhaled. “I’m very excited. When will everyone be here?”

Dean smirked at Cas. It was impossible not to find his enthusiasm _cute_. It was like he’d never been to a party before. Given the list of other things he’d never experienced, Dean wouldn’t even be surprised.

“Not long, Cas,” he answered. “Maybe half an hour. Sammy usually plans to arrive early.” Dean batted Castiel’s side. “You should go home and get your costume on.”

“Oh! Oh, yes.” Castiel practically bounced on his heels. “I’ve tried it on so many times but I’ve never had the opportunity to wear it— Charlie, Dean— I am _so_ grateful. Really. I’m so glad you’re allowing me to be part of this. The party, and the case.”

“Heyyy,” Charlie said, moving in to give Cas a hug. As she wrapped around him, Dean caught her eye, and she wore such a sympathetic expression that Dean found himself having an emotion. He wasn’t sure what emotion, but it wobbled in his chest and made him want a hug too.

So he hugged Cas from behind, and lay one hand on Charlie’s back.

And, having become the warm filling in their cuddle sandwich, Castiel’s breath shuddered, so softly it was almost a sob.

When released, he looked between Dean and Charlie, eyes shining, mouth shaking in the fragile way of very glad people. “Thank you,” he breathed again, then left.

Once the door to the office was shut, Dean exhaled. “Oh, boy.”

“It’s too late,” Charlie said. “We’ve adopted him. Can’t turn him out now. Either you two get married, or you and I move this entire business to Florida.”

“Once we rebuild this place, we’re gonna need a bigger desk,” Dean uttered, smiling to himself. “Not enough room for all of us.”

“Come on,” Charlie said. “Let’s put our costumes on.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Charlie left the bathroom in her Winnie Sanderson costume, complete with heart-shaped lipstick and buck teeth, her red hair done up as big as she could make it. She was still busy tying up the corset at the front when she looked up and saw the Goblin King’s cerulean coat-tails, as Dean leaned into the office’s fridge.

Dean stepped back, and Charlie saw what he was drinking.

Ms. Hernández’ herbal tea.

“Ah-hem,” Charlie chirped, on the verge of giggling.

Dean caught her eye, bent forward to keep from choking, then straightened up, tea flask in hand, defiant eyes ablaze. “Fight me,” he said.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

“SAMMY!”

Dean shot across the room and threw himself into the arms of his brother, who laughed, long hair wafted about his face by the force of Dean’s attack hug.

“Don’t ever _ever_ leave on a business trip ever again,” Dean complained, frowning deeply, squeezing all the breath out of Sam.

“Okay,” Sam said, putting his hand on Dean’s gelled-to-heck blonde wig, intrigued by its crunchy tendrils. “But if I do that, then we definitely need to find a new source of income. Either that, or we get our meals out of the dumpster. Up to you.”

Dean pulled away with a grunt. “Whatever. Maybe just stay a little longer before you leave again, a’right?”

Sam chuckled, tucking his hair behind his ear. “All right. I missed you too.” He beamed at Dean, then Castiel, who approached wearing his lab coat over a colourful Hawaiian shirt. “Hi, Cas.”

“Hello.” Castiel gave a smile, but his eyes were drawn to Dean, and Dean couldn’t help smiling back.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, Dean. Am I allowed to be civil to Castiel today, or will you take that as a slight against your bros-before-lab-guy rights?”

Dean felt a spike of realisation rise through him. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, be nice to him, he’s cool.”

“He’s... cool.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean wrapped an arm over Castiel’s shoulders, hugging him right up to his heart. “Super cool. And super hot.”

“...Hot.”

Dean didn’t look at Sam, but smiled anyway. “Let’s get this party started, shall we? Charlie! Where’s the music?!”

Right on cue, a beat dropped from the back corners of the room, and Charlie emerged from a cloud of dry ice vapour, cackling in a witch-like way. Sam laughed, putting on a preacher’s hat and completing his costume in that single move. Castiel put an aluminum-foil visor upon his forehead, like a pair of glasses, and just like that, he became Doc Brown from _Back to the Future_. And Dean began to ballroom dance with nobody, coat-tails a-swishing, glittering blue eyeliner cutting sharp through the air as he turned.

At the first knock on the door, Charlie ran to let in the first official guest. In came Mrs. Tran, clad in brown and wearing a pirate hat, followed by Kevin, who’d come as something both betentacled and bespectacled, and Dean didn’t want to ask questions and admit he didn’t get the reference.

“Oh, it’s you again,” Mrs. Tran said, coming face-to-face with Castiel.

“Sorry.”

Dean snorted, pushing up to Castiel’s side. “What are you sorry for?”

“In my experience there’s probably something,” Castiel said, as Mrs. Tran left, enticed by Charlie’s spread of bat-winged cakes and orange punch with floating watermelon ghosts. “It occasionally pays to apologise first and figure out what I did wrong later.”

“Same,” Kevin said, mouth already full of black snake gummies. “At least if my mom is watching.”

“Ooh, it’s Kaia!” Charlie yelped, running to the open door. She glomped the girl outside with both arms around her head, releasing her only to pull her inside, already asking how she’d _been_ and what she’d been _up to_ since Dean and Charlie had rescued her from an army of unidentified water-soluble monsters.

“I think,” Castiel said, watching Kaia show off her healed shoulder scars to Charlie, a lighter brown over her caramel skin, “I need to read up. On all your past cases. If I’m to be any use to you at all in the future, Dean, I should know what you’re up against.”

“Sure. But let’s take it one step at a time, man,” Dean said, taking Cas’ wrist and swaying it. “Tonight’s just the beginning. Rabbit first.”

He gasped, seeing a new guest arrive. She was dressed in very normal-looking clothes for a young woman, but she wore an eyepatch over one eye. Dragging Castiel in his wake, Dean went over, shutting the door behind the newcomer. “Patience. Hi.”

“Brought all the fortune cookies you ordered,” Patience said, lifting a golden cookie tin. “Made ‘em last night. If I look at all _tired_ tonight, you know why.”

“It must’ve been a lot of baking,” Castiel said understandingly.

“Baking?” Patience glanced at Castiel with a laugh ready to spill out. “Try channeling psychic energy for fifty fortunes straight. And printing them out and cutting them and folding them into every. single. cookie. before they get cold and set solid.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, it’s part of the fun,” Patience said, handing Dean the entire tin, making him let go of Cas. “Besides, I owed Charlie and Dean bigtime. Me, and all my friends.”

“Hm,” Castiel said proudly, beaming at Dean. “It seems you _have_ been helping a lot of people.”

“Worth it,” Dean smirked. “Now I get to give you a whole box of magic fortune cookies.” He glanced at Patience and explained, “Cas loves ‘em. Opened one last night that said ‘ _You just made love_ ’, and then he talked about nothing but how incredibly accurate the cookie was. Suddenly realising magic was an Actual Thing was a real _eye-opener_ for him. No offence.”

“Uuuuuh-huh.” Patience peered at Castiel with her one visible eye, then back to Dean.

“By the way,” Dean said, ready to turn away and put the cookies down, “what’s the costume?”

“Evil twin Patience,” Patience said. She tapped her fingertips together and chuckled. “Kaia’s idea.”

Dean nodded. “Gotcha.”

“Dean?” Castiel tugged on Dean’s velvet coat sleeve. “I think someone’s at the door.”

“Well, go open it,” Dean said, taking the cookies to the desk, which was already laden with snacks. “If it’s a vampire, cut its head off.”

Appalled but trying to hide it, Castiel went to the door. Once Dean piled up a plate with cookies and cakes and a scoop of green salad – so itty-bitty probably nobody even noticed – he turned from the desk and smiled.

Castiel had invited in Ms. Hernández with her two children, and although Ms. Hernández wore no costume, her face was painted with what Dean recognised as a sugar skull, with blackened eye sockets and flowers on her cheekbones. The children were painted the same way, though they were dressed as full skeletons, clad in black with glowing white bones on every limb.

“Troyano!” Olivia cried, spotting the rabbit floating over the filing cabinets. She ran to him, climbing on Charlie’s wheely chair to reach him. With Emilio’s help, they plucked Troyano out of thin air and brought him down to ground level. He made no fuss, simply relaxing in familiar arms.

“I like the decoration,” Ms. Hernández mentioned to Dean, as she placed a vat of herbal tea and a plate of buns on the snack table. “It looks very – auténtic.”

“Authentic,” Dean grinned. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

“How did Agent Bradbury like the tea?”

Dean caught her eye. “Well, actually... uh. I got to it before Charlie did. And... I loved it.”

Surprised, but glad, Ms. Hernández reached to pat Dean’s hand. She was all warm and wrinkly and had a damn strong grip. But her focus was soon drawn by her children’s voices, as they sat on the floor, lavishing attention on their glowing rabbit. Ms. Hernández looked sad again, and turned her eyes away.

She couldn’t even _look_ at the bunny.

That hurt Dean’s _feelings_.

“Ma’am,” Dean said, putting down his plate of food. “I need to ask you one question.”

“Yes?”

“Is Mr. Tickles buried on your property?”

A wave of grief flashed across Ms. Hernández’ face, confirming everything Dean needed to confirm. “Sí. Yes. He is.”

Dean gave her a stoic smile, touching her arm assuringly. “Cas and I will be back as soon as we can. Charlie’ll look after you while we get this mess sorted.”

Dean went to the door, taking it from Castiel as Cas left. Pausing in the doorway, on the threshold between the chilling silence of the night air, and the effervescence of the party, Dean searched between the costumes and the decorations, looking to meet Charlie’s gaze.

Charlie straightened, still in conversation with Kaia, now joined by Patience and Kevin.

Dean waited until Charlie noticed the draft, and finally, she glanced his way.

Dean nodded.

Charlie gave a sad smile, and nodded too. It was time.

Dean shut the door and descended the metal stairs, fading into the gloom of the blue hour.

The Impala was already parked in the street, and Castiel leant against the black frame, hands in the pockets of his lab coat. Dean’s heart thrilled to see him there, and he didn’t care to question the feeling. “Glad I’m not doin’ this alone,” Dean said. “I’m usually alone.”

Castiel said nothing, but his silence was still comforting. He sat on the passenger side of the car as Dean slid in beside him and started the engine. Cas reached for a safety belt clip and found none, and Dean chuckled.

“We can add belts,” Castiel said. “Real FBI agents or not, it’s not safe to go without.”

“They’re impractical. Don’t wanna compromise the integrity of the car, Cas.”

“One small crash could compromise a lot more than that.”

There was too much care and love in Castiel’s voice to allow Dean to joke in response. He glanced at Cas, saw the moonlit specks in his blue eyes, and nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

Dean angled the car out into the road, and after a wait, joined the evening traffic. “Speaking of impractical. That wig of yours.” He eyed the explosion of white hair placed over Castiel’s own dark hair. “You know we’re digging up a grave, right? It’s hard work. You’re gonna get hot as hell.”

“Oh, yes.” Castiel reached to take his wig off, then reached for Dean’s, too. “From what I understand, I’m already ‘hot’. But no doubt I could get hotter.”

Dean laughed, breezing through a set of amber lights.

“Anyway, it’s a cat grave,” Castiel said. “How hard can it be?”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 


	6. Hasta La Vista, Bebé

The Hernández’ house had been decorated in orange lights and sparkling LEDs, in a way that wasn’t obviously for Halloween, but seemed more like Christmas. Yet it lacked any distinctly Christmassy items. From the fenceposts up to the roofline, the property had been illuminated more lavishly than any other house on the street.

Only a single decoration gave away the purpose: a painted skull ornament in the front window, bedazzled with gemstones.

“Day of the Dead,” Dean realised. “The Mexican holiday. Guess it’s around the same time as Halloween, huh. Wonder if that’s a coincidence.”

“What are we looking for exactly?” Castiel wondered, clicking on the flashlight he’d found in Dean’s glovebox. “Just a normal grave, or will it glow in that eerie sort of way?”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Dean said, clapping his palm against the base of his own flashlight, sending a yellow beam past his cheekbones and out into space. “Let’s split up and look for clues.”

The property wasn’t especially large, but it had a three-foot moat of grass around the outside of the building. Dean crept past a hedge and ducked under a washing line, scouring the ground for a grave marker – a stone, a plaque, a different-looking flower – anything.

While bending to investigate a shadowy thistle ready to bloom, Dean heard a call from the other side of the house.

He hurried to the back yard, and found Castiel waiting for him, waggling the beam of his flashlight on a spot of bright yellow. Dean got closer, and realised the yellow was an arrangement of cut flowers.

“Marigolds,” Castiel said. “And look.” He crouched, oblivious to his lab coat dragging on the grass. He picked aside a single marigold flower, revealing a colourful stone beneath, painted with a cat skull.

“Hellooo, Mr. Tickles,” Dean said.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Now _this_ was a party. The disco lights were working now, thanks to Sam, and the smoke machine’s reach crossed over the bubble machine’s splash zone, so the bit in the middle was perfect for wading through for maximum effect. The kids ran in and out of that spot, carrying the rabbit, while their mother captured video with Emilio’s cellphone. The floor shook with the music, the walls quaked when anyone jumped, but the place was still standing, and really, if it was going to come down, it would’ve come down already.

When Ms. Hernández handed Emilio back his phone, and the kids trampled away to watch back the footage, Charlie politely pried the rabbit from them, uttering apologies and assurances that they’d get him back later.

If things went well, they’d get back an actual rabbit, not whatever _this_ was.

Troyano was calm enough, cradled in Charlie’s arms. He purred, in a catlike way. Charlie could only imagine Mr. Tickles just wanted to be cuddled one last time, and had taken Troyano as a vessel in the hopes that their new pet would be just as beloved as the last. But Ms. Hernández hadn’t looked Troyano’s way, let alone allowed the rabbit within touching distance.

“Ms. Hernández,” Charlie said, approaching her by the snack table. “May I speak to you? It’s about—”

“Ay!” Ms. Hernández stepped back. “No. Keep it away from me. The devil is in that rabbit. I know you wish only to help but—” He averted her haunted eyes. “I cannot.”

“Ms. Hernández,” Charlie said, even more softly. “Please listen. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. We have good reason to believe that your Mr. Tickles... when he died, he didn’t leave.”

That got Ms. Hernández’ attention. She looked at Charlie, agast. “He is not at rest?”

Charlie lowered her eyes to the sullen rabbit, hoping the question would be answered. “He found a new home here.” Grimly, she went on, “But it’s not a happy home for him, Ms. Hernández. Spirits aren’t meant to linger.”

A queer glaze floated through Ms. Hernández’ eyes. “ _Día de los Muertos_ ,” she breathed. Meeting Charlie eyes in a flash, she asked, “Do you know what that is? Día de los Muertos. Day of the Dead.”

“It’s a... a Mexican celebration. When spirits come from the next world and visit ours. You... You leave them gifts, and offerings. Food and flowers?”

“Sí. But it is not a sad occasion. It is a time of joy.” Ms. Hernández put down her plate, eyes on her glowing purple rabbit. The rabbit stared back, pleading, but not struggling to reach her. It simply waited, with a cat’s patience.

“Día de los Muertos has – in some ways – been changed to become like your Halloween,” Ms. Hernández explained. “A celebration. But, when western Halloween is – is subproducto... derivado— It comes from the Pagan celebration of Samhain. The church, they change it to seem devilish. Like for Christmas. They take the day of the year for – for the celebration of nature’s cycle, and turn it to a bad holiday. And then it becomes a candy day. But it was like el Día de los Muertos, long ago.

“You understand, the Day of the Dead has been moved forward, and forward, and forward throughout history to coincide with the end of October. In Méjico we celebrate on November first,” Ms. Hernández held up a finger, “and November second. On these two nights, we visit the cemetery, where spirits of the departed, they enter, and they come to visit loved people. Family. Friends. On the first night, come the children. Then the adults. We build them altars, to remember what they still mean to us and how much we love them.

“This bread,” Ms. Hernández said, gesturing to the circle of crossbone-decorated buns she’d placed on the snack table, “ _Pan de muerto_. Bread of the dead. The spirits enjoy these, and a refreshing glass of water once they arrive. And the living, we eat this at the cemetery, and we pray, and we feel _love_ and joy for the ones who again pass onward to paradise. We know they’re happy to return there.”

Charlie stroked Troyano’s head, keeping him from wriggling. He was comfortably held, but he was tortured by being so close to his loved one and left unacknowledged.

The torture extended to Ms. Hernández. It showed in her tension, the stiff jaw and the clenched fists. Yet she didn’t move to take Troyano in her arms.

“Día de los Muertos is a happy day,” Ms. Hernández whispered, her eyes flooding with tears. “I should be happy to see my Mr. Tickles. Ay, _dios mío_ , I’ve missed him terribly since he left on his journey.”

“Then take him, Ms. Hernández,” Charlie pleaded, stepping forward – but Ms. Hernández stepped back. “Let him know you love him still.”

“But he knew,” Ms. Hernández said, shaking her head. “He knew he was loved, I always told him so. I did not have the chance to say goodbye, it’s true – but I knew he would be back, don’t you see? He would return every Día de los Muertos. Even to lose someone loved, it isn’t a sad time. Mr. Tickles would not have reason to stay. I know he left when it was his time to go.”

Charlie took an uncertain breath, looking down at the rabbit. “But if this... _isn’t_ Mr. Tickles... then—?”

“Then, it is like I said,” Ms. Hernández said, voice harsh. “The devil is in that rabbit.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Castiel’s lab coat lay discarded, tossed in the dirt, covering Dean’s thick velvet tailcoat and extra shirt ruffles. The steady light of the flashlight beams rebounded off Dean and Castiel’s pale, moving biceps, as together they dug down into the grave.

“Cat graves are deeper than I thought,” Castiel said, standing straight, wiping his forehead with his muddy hand. “I’d imagine only one foot, even two, but—”

“Two feet and counting,” Dean breathed, nuzzling his own shoulder to swipe away sweat, smudging his winged eyeliner in the process. “I’m starting to think there’s no grave here.”

“Or there’s something _else_ buried here,” Castiel said. “Something bigger.”

“Bigger,” Dean said. “Bigger like what?”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

“They’re not answering,” Charlie muttered, shaking her head, dialling Dean’s cellphone again. “He definitely took his phone, he always takes his phone. It was in his coat pocket. I don’t know. I don’t know why he’s not picking up.”

“Ms. Hernández, let me get this timeline straight,” Sam said, hands out in front of him, like he was holding an invisible box, trying to squash all his thoughts into one place. “A few months ago, Mr. Tickles died. And you wrapped him in a coat and buried him in your yard.”

“Sí.”

“And only days later, you bought a rabbit. Troyano.”

“Sí.”

“And then, less than a week on, your rabbit began acting strangely. Glowing. Floating. Leaving purple ectoplasm everywhere.”

“And not eating,” Olivia added, as that was indeed very important. She turned to Charlie and tugged on her robe. “If we get the ghost out of Troyano, will he still be alive? He hasn’t eaten in months.”

“Shhh,” Emilio said, taking his little sister’s hand. “Don’t worry, Olivia, he’ll be okay.”

Charlie’s stomach clenched, because she couldn’t promise that as easily as Emilio. “I hope so. I really do.”

“I don’t get it,” Sam said. “What’s so terrible about a cat carcass? Dean’s dug up worse.”

“Ay, no... No, no,” Ms. Hernández said, shaking her head. “Mr. Tickles was not a cat! Mr. Tickles, he was just like Troyano.”

“A rabbit?” Sam’s gaze shot to Charlie, eyes widened. “Then why was Dean allergic to...?”

Charlie shook her head. She knew already. “I’m calling them again.”

Everyone waited, watching Charlie dial. The music had been turned off. But the smoke and bubble machines kept on spewing out their product, filling the room with a thickness that mirrored the tension in Charlie’s own body. The disco lights seemed like emergency lights now. Flashing. Urgent.

Dean and Castiel needed to know. They needed to know that what they were digging up was more horrifying than they ever imagined.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

Dean’s hand flew to grasp Castiel’s hand. “Stop! Stop digging.”

“What?” Castiel asked.

“Look.” Dean pointed beneath their feet, lifting one shovel away, laying it in the grass. “I see cat fur.”

“Wouldn’t it have decomposed by now?” Castiel asked, sitting back at the side of the grave, legs apart around Dean’s waist as he kept scraping, shifting the last of the dirt aside. “Mr. Tickles died months ago. And there’s no coffin.”

“Hair is the last to go,” Dean said. “Like bones. Guess that college biology paper of yours didn’t cover that one, huh.”

“And why is it buried so deep?” Castiel asked, as Dean shook his head. “Surely a cat would only be buried a couple of feet under.”

Dean froze, then slowly lay the final shovelful of dirt outside the grave. He swallowed. “Cas... This ain’t a cat,” he said, his voice thick.

Castiel caught his eye.

Dean finished, “It’s a _lot_ of cats.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

“ _No sé por qué_ , I don’t know why. I don’t know why it existed,” Ms. Hernández uttered, shaking her head over and over. “It came to me in a friend’s donation, she wanted me to have new things when I became a U.S. citizen. It was a happy day – and once that part of my journey was complete, Mr. Tickles said it was his time to leave, as he had accompanied me for as long as he could. But we wanted him to be comfortable as he travelled.”

“It’s a cursed object!” Olivia said. “I hated it, I thought it was stinky.”

“It _was_ stinky,” Emilio said, folding his arms. “It smelled like old ladies and dusty rooms and horrible perfumes. It must’ve been a hundred years old.”

“It was so big and so thick that we had to dig further down,” Ms. Hernández said, looking at Charlie imploringly. “Many times, as we dug, I wondered whether a pillowcase would do, but something – something made me sure, that _thing_ needed to rest as much as Mr. Tickles did. I always hate it. The clothing made of the leathers. The furs.”

“Made of dead animals,” Olivia said. “At least something made of cats meant Mr. Tickles would have lots of animal friends, right?”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

“A fur coat,” Dean said, lifting it, tugging it part-way out of the ground. “Wow, a really old one, too. This is the style they wore when people carried muskets around.” He held it up, its squashed shell all folded and bent, torn and eaten by worms. It would not unfurl completely, as the skeleton of a small mammal lay curled in its middle, and Dean didn’t want to disturb Mr. Tickles.

Dean sneezed.

Ugh, he felt sick. He lay the coat back down and hopped out of the grave. “God, that’s disgusting. Why would anyone make that, let alone _wear_ it?”

It took Dean a few moments to realise Castiel was staring at him.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Dean, your car has leather seats,” Castiel said. “You wear leather boots.”

“But that’s—”

“It’s exactly the same. But cows instead of cats.”

Dean looked at his boots in disgust. “Kinda wanna burn them now.”

“Don’t waste them,” Castiel warned. “Shoes are shoes. Besides, what are the alternatives? Fake leather is made of plastic, which is made of oil, the mining of which destroys the planet. Are you really going to wear shoes made of ethically-farmed wood and natural plant fibres for the rest of your life?”

“Can I? ‘Cause I _so_ would. Y’know, if Walmart sold them.”

Castiel smiled. “Let’s lay this cat ghost to rest, shall we?”

“Mr. Tickles _and_ all of his friends,” Dean agreed. He peered sullenly into the grave. He bent towards his duffel bag, opening it up and taking out a can of squeezable lighter fluid, handing it to Castiel, then taking the canister of rock salt in his own hand. “Time to salt and burn.”

Just as Dean opened the rock salt, Castiel gripped his arm.

“What’s up?”

Castiel looked at him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted. “What if – the creature possessing Troyano... isn’t Mr. Tickles? That’s a rabbit skeleton. That’s not a cat.”

Dean eyed the fur coat. “Huh.”

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Castiel said, a note of hysteria in his voice, “but Troyano _really_ liked catnip. And he did seem to sleep a lot, for a ghost.”

Dean and Castiel gazed at each other, the whites of their eyes gleaming with faint gold from the flashlights.

“Let’s burn the coat,” Dean decided. “Every last bit. Every _fibre_.” He poured the salt over the grave, as Castiel spurted the lighter fluid over the top. “If human ghosts can cling to the living through an object – a wedding band, a brooch, a lock of hair... hell knows how many cat souls are still here. Trapped here. Exhausted. No cuddles or chin scratchies for – what would you say – a hundred years?”

“That’s too long,” Castiel said, such a weight in his voice. “To go that long without the love of someone dear – Dean, I don’t know how they’d bear it.”

“I know how,” Dean replied, pulling a matchbook from his pocket. “I think they’d get real angry. Direct that anger towards everyone around them, for no good reason. Eat their heart out; consume everything edible in sight. Then, when it goes on too long, they’d... stop. Go still, deep inside. Quiet. Real quiet, and dark. They’d stop caring about getting even, or getting what they want. Ignore decent opportunities to engage with other people. Refuse to drink perfectly good tea. Don’t ask for affection even when they want it. Don’t ask for anything. Just do nothing. For a hundred years.” He looked at Castiel with anguish crushing his insides, tamed only by relief that _his_ pain was already over. “There’s only two ways to fix that kind of hurt, Cas. Go after what you want. Or move on.”

Castiel squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you went with the first option. I think the cats did, too.”

Dean leaned in, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s lips. He stayed there, holding tight to a breath.

Then he leaned back, pulled Castiel two steps away from the grave. He lit a match, set fire to the entire matchbook, then dropped the burning flame into the hole.

The darkness turned yellow, red, lashing up in waves of flame. A hundred years of pain went up in gallons of smoke, roaring from the grave in a great stench, the poison of death and cruelty all released to smother the first stars of Halloween night.

Dean was blinded by the light, the smoke, and by his tears. He held tight to Castiel’s hand, and together they watched the coat fade to just its core, showing a peek of Mr. Tickles’ bones through the flames.

“You know... I like cats,” Dean realised. “And... if I wasn’t allergic... man, I think I’d love them.”

Castiel remained at his side, staring.

Not at the fire, but at Dean.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

“Look at Troyano,” Olivia said, amazed. “Look how many colours he’s glowing now!”

The children cradled the rabbit, kneeling on the floor. Charlie sat cross-legged beside them, reaching to touch Troyano’s fur. It was consumed by a wave of red, then pink, then bright yellow. Heatless flames wafted up from his ghostly form, flashing colour by colour. Blue, teal, orange.

“This isn’t what usually happens,” Charlie said, stroking the rabbit as the children cooed. “When a ghost’s remains are burned, the physical form usually goes up in flames, all at once. But... if Dean and Castiel are burning the coat...”

Sam knelt beside them, along with Kevin, and the teary-eyed Ms. Hernández. They formed a circle, all reaching to touch the burning, rainbow-coloured Troyano, who flinched, and flailed, but let himself be held softly.

“Each colour is a different cat,” Kevin said. “They can’t go out all at once. So they’re going one by one.”

Cyan. Cerulean. Chartreuse.

Troyano shut his eyes, long ears twitching. He squeaked gently, curling into himself.

It must hurt. Releasing so many souls at once would be hard work for such a small body. Troyano cried out, perhaps in pain, perhaps in mourning. Perhaps in absolute relief as his burden was lightened.

“Shhhh,” Ms. Hernández said, reaching to take the bunny. Charlie’s jaw dropped, but she smiled, tears swimming in her waterline as the older woman held the rabbit at long last, stroking its back, swaying it against her bosom like a baby. “It’s all right. It’s okay to move on. _Es bueno seguir adelante. Déjalo ir._ You can visit again next year if you like, I will welcome you.”

Charlie covered her mouth with a hand, holding back a sob. She glanced to Kevin, and saw how intently he watched the little animal. Sam smiled, his lips shaking. The children’s faces were streaked with tears, but they wept in silence, smiling widely and holding hands.

“Thank you,” Emilio said to the rabbit. “Thank you for your company. You were weird but a lot of fun. And thank you for giving me so many more YouTube subscribers.”

“Be at peace,” Ms. Hernández whispered into the rabbit’s ear. “Be with your loved ones. And please... please... bring my Troyano back safely.”

The rabbit opened its eyes, glossy irises washing over with lilac, red, turquoise. It looked up into Ms. Hernández’ face, gazing at her as the fire in its body grew more intense, the colours rushing faster – white, purple, mustard, green-yellow-pink—

The rabbit hyperventilated, spasming, and every person around it reached to touch it, soothing it, praying individually and together that Troyano would survive.

Colours melded into one, and the rabbit’s fur glowed a pure white, its light expanding, brightening, becoming too intense to look at. Charlie shut her eyes, seeing nothing but the veins inside her eyelids. She heard the rabbit _scream_ , and her heart clenched tight for a moment, arrested in her shared pain.

The room went silent; the rabbit went still under her fingers. The light disappeared, and everything seemed black.

All she heard was the anxious breaths of every person around her.

She peeked out under her lashes... and her face split into a smile. “Troyano,” she whispered.

Ms. Hernández dared to look, and she yelped in delight: on her lap was a simple brown rabbit, wriggling its little V-shaped nose, blinking to adjust to the light. Ms. Hernández lifted him up, and gave his face a kiss. “Hola, bebé. Welcome home.”

The children cheered and hugged each other tightly, rocking side-to-side in happiness. “He made it, he made it!” Olivia whispered.

“Here,” Mrs. Tran said, reaching over Kevin’s head to offer something orange. “It may look like a ghost, but I assure you, it’s a carrot stick.”

Ms. Hernández laughed, taking the carrot and handing it to Troyano. Troyano gave it a sniff, and began to munch.

The group chuckled in relief, looking around at each other. Charlie finally turned back to Ms. Hernández, and found her hand taken by the other woman, held, squeezed, then shaken. “Thank you, Agent Bradbury,” she said to Charlie. “Thank you very much.”

Charlie had no words to reply; she simply smiled, and bowed her head. She petted Troyano’s soft ears, his velveteen fur heavenly under the pad of her thumb.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

“Well, that’s _that_ done,” Dean said, hopping down into the ditch, though Castiel stayed back, warned off by the lingering heat radiating from the grave. Dean nudged the ashes with his boot, just to check everything was gone. “Awesome.”

“Might I suggest poking around with a long stick, rather than jumping in?” Castiel said, hauling Dean back to ground level with a strong hand.

“Yeah, yeah, smartass,” Dean smiled. “My boots only caught fire a _couple_ times.”

He bent to collect his shovels and put them into his duffel bag, grunting as he straightened.

“Wait,” Castiel frowned. “We’re leaving? Just like that?”

“Why, what else is there to do?” Dean asked. “We burned the bones and the coat.”

Castiel looked at the charred, open grave. He swallowed, then looked back at Dean. “It just doesn’t seem right to leave it so messy.”

Dean hesitated, but clearly agreed, as he returned to Castiel’s side, and handed him a shovel. “We’re gonna miss more of the party.”

“I won’t regret doing this instead,” Castiel said, shovelling dirt back into the hole. Dean followed suit.

They spent another fifteen minutes filling the grave in again. Although it felt wrong to walk over the grave, they stood on the aerated dirt every so often to compact it down. Dean even jumped a few times. Eventually the dirt had been replaced. It stood out from level ground by several inches, but Dean assured Castiel it would settle over time.

As a final touch, Castiel replaced the marigold flowers, and the coloured stone. He realised now it was a rabbit skull, not a cat skull. They looked similar.

Dean rested on his shovel, muddy from head to toe, and he stared at the grave. He sighed. “Rest in peace, little guys.”

Castiel glanced at Dean, touched by his words, even though they were brief and casual. He offered Dean a hand. Dean was unsure at first, but then accepted the affection.

They held on for a while, then packed up their equipment, and headed back to the car.

Dean pulled his phone from his tailcoat pocket as they walked down the garden path. The screen lit his face in blue as he checked his notifications. “Six missed messages,” he noticed. “Wonder what that was about.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 


	7. The Boy Melodrama Scene (ft. Girls)

Charlie looked up as the door to the office opened, and in walked Dean and Castiel, both muddy but smiling. She went to them, hugging them both.

“I see the rabbit made it,” Dean said, spying Olivia and Emilio dancing in the middle of the smoky office, spinning with the rabbit cradled between them. Beside them was Ms. Hernández, the life of the party, laughing and dancing and twirling with her long skirts, strings of beads and marigold flowers swinging from her neck.

Charlie touched Dean’s cheek. “Your eyeliner’s ruined. So much for all my fantasies of a picture-perfect cosplay.”

“Yeah, we probably need to wash up,” Dean shrugged. “Cas pulled a couple muscles, he might need some ice—”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel said, eyes set longingly on the party. “I can wash later.”

Dean grinned. “C’mon, at least wash your hands and face. I’m not letting you eat snacks with grave dirt under your nails.”

“Oh, if I must.”

Castiel turned for the bathroom, and Dean chuckled. He glanced at Charlie. “I’mma wash up too. Be right back.”

And right back they were.

“So,” Castiel said, emerging from the bathroom with a clean face, clean hands, and his silver visor replaced upon his white wig. “What does one do at a party?”

“Depends,” Dean said, tugging the frills out of his coat sleeves, leaving them dangling. “Admire my perfect winged liner and pointy eyebrows?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Not _all_ night, please.”

Dean chuckled, taking Castiel’s hand. “Let’s get a cupful of bat punch and a few pumpkin fritters, how about that.”

“And a fortune cookie.”

“ _And_ a fortune cookie.”

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

After the actual nourishment came the official cake-cutting (black cake with gooey orange icing), followed by cake-photography, cake-eating, cake-stealing, and cake-finishing. Then came the get-the-bat-in-the-bucket game, and the pin-the-tail-on-the-werewolf game, followed by Boggle.

It was supposed to be a _quiet_ game of Boggle, just between Kaia and Patience and Kevin, but it somehow became a team game, which included a lot of yelling and shrieking and accusing one another of cheating, which led to much paper plate-throwing, which became a frisbee contest.

The rabbit was greatly unbothered by all of this. He hid behind his fire grates and ate all the ghost-shaped carrots, then the cucumber, then Emilio and Olivia’s leftover salad, the acquisition of which was sworn to secrecy.

Later in the evening – when Sam and Mrs. Tran took to the dancefloor, and Charlie and Ms. Hernández had sectioned themselves off by the snacks to talk about the pitfalls of lesbianism over a cupcake or two – Castiel sat down with Kaia and Patience, and finally had that quiet game of Boggle.

Dean slid away from Kevin, leaving him to observe the city from the balcony. He went up to Castiel on the couch, and flumped down beside him, wrapping himself over his shoulders.

“Ribs,” Dean said, seeing a visible word on the Boggle game. “Sir. Bird. Birb. Are you allowed to play ‘birb’?”

“So long as everyone agrees it’s a word, yes,” Castiel said. “But now they’ve all heard you, and now they’ve all written ‘ribs’ and ‘sir’ and ‘bird.”

“Yeesh.”

“Would you perhaps like to _join_ the game, Dean,” Castiel suggested, “instead of ruining my chances.”

“Well, I dunno how to play, so—”

“Clearly.”

Dean grinned, catching Kaia’s eye. “Am I allowed to play?”

Kaia blew a raspberry. “Your boyfriend suggested it. So sure.”

Patience handed Dean a notepad and pencil. “Join in the next round.”

So Dean waited, observing Castiel. Once he understood how the game worked, his mind wandered to other things.

Like Castiel’s hands. Big and strong and elegant... and the way he wrote, with no hesitation, rounded letters with something of a classic flourish...

Like Castiel’s profile. Straight nose, long lashes, a tiny smile because he knew Dean was looking at him. Such a beautiful jaw.

Like Castiel’s soul. Not quite visible, but easily detectable. It felt good to be near him. Felt good to know him. Felt good to _not_ hate him.

Dean found himself smiling, doe-eyed as he gazed at Castiel from so close beside him. But even when he caught himself staring, he couldn’t stop.

God, he liked this guy. Really, actually _liked_ him.

Maybe even... loved—?

“And we begin, in three, two, one—!” Patience slammed the Boggle ball down on the coffee table, the four-by-four grid set up with new arrangements of letters. “GO!”

Dean tore his gaze from Castiel and began writing down the words he saw, scribbling furiously, grinning all the while.

It was funny, he thought. Throughout all the time he’d been apart from Castiel, he’d been comparing and contrasting himself and the other guy, finding fault in himself and then accusing Castiel of being too perfect, too kind, too insufferably good at everything despite a lack of experience. The urge to fight Cas had given Dean fuel to do whatever he needed to do. But now? Competition felt even more invigorating, now they were on the same team.

Oh, Dean could work with this. This was the start of a new era!

They’d be on the same team for _everything_ from now on, if Dean had any choice in the matter.

 

✧ · · · ☾ ♡ ☽ · · · ✧

 

After all the music and the games and the flashing lights emerging from within smoke and bubbles, the sound and the heat died a natural death. The office became still without its occupants, as everyone had gone home. The paper towel ghosties still twirled from the ceiling, dancing in the draft from the open balcony doors. But that was all that moved.

The food tables were lightened. The tea had been drunk. The punch bowl contained only a single watermelon bat. The leftover cake had been distributed in party bags, and all that remained in the office fridge were the pieces belonging to Sam, Charlie, Dean, and Castiel.

Sam had left to see Ms. Hernández to her car, along with her children, and, of course, Troyano. Charlie had gone to take the trash to the alleyway dumpster. Castiel was in the bathroom, undressing out of his costume.

So the only one around to enjoy the silence was Dean. He’d always liked being alone. But this time he wasn’t alone on purpose, it just happened this way. He awaited the moment his company would join him.

He stood on the balcony, elbows on the barrier, shoulders and jaw relaxed. He wore the smallest smile. A satisfied smile. He looked upon the Chicago night skyline, and shut his eyes against a refreshing breeze. The rush lifted his hair from his forehead and ruffled it – and an almighty mussing felt _blissful_ after wearing a wig for most of the evening. He breathed deeply, chilled to the bottom of his lungs, and exhaled as the gust faded away.

He heard footsteps approaching.

Castiel came up to his side, pressing to his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dean said, helplessly admiring how Castiel looked in his borrowed t-shirt and sweatpants.

“Hello, Dean.”

“So,” Dean said, nudging Castiel. “How was it? Your first party? I, uh. I might actually do this more often, myself. Socialising ain’t so bad.”

Castiel ducked his head. “It was good. Thoroughly enjoyable.”

“And your first official supernatural investigation case?”

“Exquisite.”

Dean smirked. “And, uh... how was your first...”

He trailed off, licking his lips.

Castiel soon realised what he meant. “My first sexual experience was an offence I would be most happy to repeat. Again. For the third time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And... perhaps a few times after that.”

Dean grinned. “Awesome.” He took another deep breath, watching the moon rise with Castiel. “You know,” he started, “we could use a lab guy. Not just on call, but... permanently. And we wouldn’t just want you for your microscopes and industrial vacuum cleaners, either. We need someone smart in all directions. A— A partner.”

Castiel nodded. “It’s true that I could use more excitement in my professional life. What does the paranormal investigation lifestyle pay, anyway?”

Dean clicked his cheek to his teeth. “Honestly? It doesn’t pay anything. Sam earns money, we spend it. But... you’d get to share my bed. That’s pretty much it. And...” He reached along the balcony, picking up a marigold flower that, presumably, Ms. Hernández had left behind. Dean twirled the yellow bloom between his fingers, and smiled. “Sometimes you get a good feeling inside. Just knowing you did something worthwhile.”

Castiel gazed at Dean, his stubble lit with gold from the office, while his eyes twinkled with moonlight. “As slim as the benefits sound... I might just take you up on your offer.”

Dean swallowed, filled with a quiet, gratified sort of joy. He leaned close, and gave Castiel a kiss. “Good.”

They both turned their faces towards the golden light, hearing the office door open. Charlie entered with Sam behind her, mid-conversation. They saw Dean and Castiel on the balcony and went straight out to join them, Charlie first. She flung her arms over their shoulders, hanging from their taller forms. Sam budged up next to Dean, and they laughed as a foursome, so squashed on this tiny ledge.

But the laugh faded, and core-deep contentedness overtook.

This was it, Dean thought. These were the people he wanted to spend his life with.

This was his family.

He sighed, and rested his head on Charlie’s head. The costume was gone but she still smelled of hairspray. And under it all, she smelled like his friend. Dean squeezed Sam’s arm, and angled his head so he could meet Castiel’s eyes.

Of course he was looking back. Adoringly as ever.

From within their penguin huddle, something buzzed.

“Oop, that’s me,” Charlie said, fishing in her skinny jeans for her phone. She pulled it out, and checked her messages.

After a pause, she started to grin. “Ehehe. Guess _what_?”

She looked at Dean, and beamed.

“ _We’ve got a case._ ”

**{ the end }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hereby wish a well-decorated, wholesome Halloween experience to _you specifically_ , beloved reader of mine. May all your problems go up in smoke gently. ♥
> 
> ★ [reblog the art??](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/179468546210/something-icky-this-way-comes-a-deancas-halloween)  
> ★ [reblog this fic](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/179468764790/something-icky-this-way-comes) (text)
> 
> If you want more Halloween-themed fics to read, try these:  
> ☆ **[Preacher Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545286)** (42k / hurt/comfort, asexual preacher!Cas, nurse!Dean, hugs  & cuddling)  
> ☆ **[Marshmalloween](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12569508)** (33k / Dean takes Sam’s teen friends to a haunted swamp, meet old bestie Cas, ghost adventures, fluff  & angst, characters of colour doing cool stuff)  
> ☆ **[Raising Hell in a Hotel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438905)** (29k / kid!fic, living in a hotel, friendship, pining, Mary Winchester)  
>  ☆ **[For a Scarf in October](https://archiveofourown.org/works/989152)** (1k / canon, Dean wants to buy a ~women’s~ scarf, Sam tells him it’s okay)
> 
> ★ [My recent tumblr post with **all 89 fics prior to this one!!**](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/179136694010/all-of-the-destiel-fics-by-almaasi) ( _THANK YOU for 100,000 kudos!!!! Holy cats!_ )
> 
> ★ [And please do click here if you want to know **how to support my writing and art and other creative projects!!**](almaasi.tumblr.com/post/174914543205/how-to-make-sure-elmiealmaasi-writes-forever) It would mean a lot to me~
> 
> Thank you for reading, and existing in whatever form you take on this Earth. You’re great, and I appreciate you.  
> Elmie x


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